


The Negotiator

by lowstandards



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (which I cannot promise is intriguing it’s just got a lot of politics), Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Enemies to Lovers, General Anakin Skywalker, Inspired by Black Sails, Inspired by Treasure Planet (2002), M/M, Pirate Obi-Wan Kenobi, Political Intrigue, Rebel Anakin Skywalker, Rebel Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Space Pirates, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowstandards/pseuds/lowstandards
Summary: Every child in the galaxy grew up with tales of pirates, the monsters that tormented the Republic. Anakin thought they would save him as a child on Tatooine, but that day never came. He wasn’t so naive when he’d grown up a general in the GAR and dealing with pirates became an all too common occurrence. Really it wasn’t pirates as a whole so much as one very persistent pirate, the famed Negotiator, bane of the Republic.But war had complicated the galaxy, and there lurked forces darker than some meddlesome, over dramatic pirates.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 97
Kudos: 254





	1. Occupation

**Author's Note:**

> I am still very new to writing SW fic but I was so inspired by art that I saw that I really just had to write this. It totally won’t do justice to the ideas I’ve seen but :) I try.  
> I 100% don’t use proper SW lingo and that is bc I am too dumb to remember it all.
> 
> these wonderful works were my big inspiration to write this!  
> [pirate Obi-Wan](https://vulpesarctica.tumblr.com/post/617751376155541504/you-can-have-a-little-man-bun-as-a-treat)
> 
> [Jahaliel text post](https://jahaliel.tumblr.com/post/617685932491063296/tall-tales-they-tell)

Strangely enough, pirates had always been the talk of the galaxy. Tales of encounters with them peppered every child’s bedtime stories. They fit in right there alongside the legend of Jedi and Zillo beasts. But sure enough they were a quite real threat, at least to certain parts of the galaxy. 

To the Core worlds, the pirates were indeed as mystical and fantastic as the Zillo beast, another boogeyman for children like threats of the Hutt stealing them away and being thrown in Sarlacc pits. They would never dream of seeing a pirate, of knowing the reality of anything harsher than not having the top model speeder when everyone else does (or whatever it was that Core world elites worry about). 

To the Mid Rim, they knew pirates were real because they weren’t kriffing stupid. Of course there were pirates, but not like they ever really saw them. No, they knew that sometimes shipments disappeared and people got hurt or markets rose and fell influenced by the whims of invisible, phantom puppet masters. To the older, more business inclined population, the existence of pirates was a purely economic affair. They still did exist as a boogeyman. Pirates: the monsters of the galaxy with which to terrify your children. To teach them about morality, about what was civilized and what wasn’t. Teach them how they should (and more importantly how they should  _ not _ ) live and work and think and feel. Pirates. They were an example, a demonstration. 

It was only the Outer Rim planets that had the decency to have some creativity, some originality, with their tales. Pirates were heroes and villains alike. 

On Tatooine, they were largely heroes. 

You see, growing up on a slave planet, some desert backwater where the Republic doesn’t give a single thought to your life, it’s hard to view those who fight the system as being the bad guys. It’s hard to look at the people whose whole motto (if they have one) is “Kriff You'' aimed very directly at the same Senate who denies intervening in the illegal and immoral actions that cause you daily suffering and denounce them as the ones at fault. That did not make them, the pirates, a mythic savior - no that was a spot still politely reserved for the Jedi. Pirates were the embodiment of freedom. They weren’t what was supposed to save them, but what they wanted to be. There wasn’t a child in Mos Espa (or Mos Eisley, or Mos Entha, or Anchorhead, et cetera) that didn’t think of running away, getting to fight and steal and own something for once and exist on your own terms.

Despite her own personal desires not to indulge in her son’s already very present preference for fighting the system, Shmi Skywalker found herself telling dear young Anakin everything she could about pirates. It was always at his request, coming in from his incessant tinkering with that pod he swore would work one day, or on his protocol droid project, or on any of the number of other things he did - but he would come in with a great big smile and bright eyes and beg for a story. 

She said he only got one once he’d cleaned up the mess he’d made while working. 

And once he’d done that he’d beg again, and she said not until he got that grease and oil off his hands and face. 

And once he did that and any other thing she could come up with, and was tucked into his cot in their shared room, she’d finally tell him about pirates. 

“Is it true Watto had to face a pirate gang for his pod?” Anakin was practically vibrating with excitement. After all, if Watto had a pod that he’d gotten from pirates then  _ Anakin _ had a pod that had been gotten from pirates. It was an indirect connection but you take what you can get. 

“Can you really imagine Watto facing off with five thugs?” She gently brushed blond hair from his forehead. 

“I know,” he pouted, disappointed at his own loss and not at being deceived by a tale. “He couldn’t take half the cantina band, even loaded on spice.”

“Mom,” he perked up again, inquisitive as always and Shmi felt that curling of affection and grief she always did that accompanied her love for her son- the affection being the result of endless maternal love, complete adoring love for her boy who she would give up everything for, but then also grief at the life he was born into, which despite everything she could not help but blame herself for. 

“Yes, my little one?”

“Do you think-“ it was a sad, self-conscious pause, “Do you think pirates will ever come here? Do you think it could ever happen?” 

On many planets - again, differentiated by Core or Outer Rim exposure - this question, this possibility would be a frightening one. It’s implications would run near the lines of “Will pirates ever attack?” “Will pirates attack [insert generic familial relation here]?” “Will we be safe when we travel to Naboo?” or some other of endless questions that were concerned with personal safety. However, for dear Anakin, it was not a question of pirates as a threat. The idea did not beg “Will we be killed by pirates” but asked instead “Could there be some savior out there so we  _ aren’t _ killed anyway?” It’s a lengthy, complex question for a child, but Tatooine did not lend itself to a simple childhood or straightforward dilemmas. 

The Jedi were a myth, and there’s very little reason to pour your hope into believing a myth will save you. 

Pirates however were very, very real. Anakin was as sure of pirates as he was of both suns rising every morning. And there were all sorts of stories of pirates that attacked corrupt leaders; corrupt Senators who didn’t care for the good of their people and let them starve so they could live in luxury, they didn’t care for the intricacies of gang wars but cared for profit and plunder and therefore wouldn’t hesitate to kill a Hutt if the need arose. Maybe there was a morality behind it, maybe it was just chaos. Either way, it was hope. 

And so Shmi said “Maybe, you never know Ani.”

-

It was not pirates that invaded Tatooine. It was the Republic. 

The Tatoo system had gone miraculously unnoticed by political powers for so long that there was no expecting the full scale occupation. 

They said it was being done to ensure Separatists didn’t build forces in the Outer Rim, and it was for the protection and wellbeing of the people. 

Strangely, they didn’t care about the abundant slave market and drug cartel based on the planet. The Hutts were conveniently overlooked. 

Not overlooked were the young, well not just children but anyone not frighteningly old. Anakin was obviously among this group. 

A stone-faced commander dressed in unimpressive grey and black held a holopad like a weapon and stared down every life form in Mos Espa. Anakin was twelve and wondered what arrangements had to be made with the slave owners to allow this. He was lined up with others around his age, and Anakin had a bad feeling that he wouldn’t be returning home. He watched the blasters glinting on the hips of the cerulean clad Republic guards, reflecting in the too bright, too hot sunlight. Everything buzzed with dry heat and the droning of voices as another man dressed in the same unremarkable garments organized the people of Tatooine. 

These people did not speak, they did not argue. they had well learned that fighting back often led to a worse fate. 

“Thank you, citizens of Tatooine, for your welcoming cooperation.” Citizens was a bold choice of word. Almost none of them were citizens. To be one, you would have to be considered a person, not property. It was one of the commanders addressing them, he had a weak, wavering voice. It would have been laughable under better circumstances. “The Republic is very glad to welcome you as well, and looks forward to extending whatever aid it can. Our first step in this generous mission is providing your children the ability to serve the Grand Army of the Republic. Their efforts will be well appreciated, well rewarded, and will contribute to the ongoing effort to bring peace and justice to the galaxy.”

It seemed this was the moment they were meant to applaud, or celebrate their generous benefactors. But they all heard the words for what they really were, not the sugar coated diplomacy that tried to make them: their children were being taken away. The youngest among them, who easily could have been the most upset didn’t fully understand what was happening. And the older ones knew this was their only chance to escape a life of enslavement on Tatooine. It was that middle range, the kids like Anakin, who had never fully considered their future, that cried out first. Some actually cried, some rose protests that they didn’t want to fight, or more specifically they didn’t want to die. Anakin, who had been wary the whole time, was only upset because he wanted to see his mother. He would not miss Tatooine, and he would not even miss their home on it, but he would miss lovely Shmi Skywalker. 

He wasn’t the only one calling out  _ mom!  _ and trying, searching the other crowds for a familiar face. But his voice felt lost, like he was drowning. He was caught in a sea of frightened children, being pushed away from what they knew towards a cold, unfeeling craft, a ship’s gaping maw and a future working for the Republic. There were tears in his eyes but they were from anger, not sadness and all they did was cloud his vision instead of rolling down his cheeks. 

“It’s alright Ani,” her voice was a beacon in the middle of all of it. She had surged forward, reached a hand out to grab his, but he was pulled away from her reach just as quickly. The Republic guards yelled at her to get back in line. “I’ll be fine my little one,” her face was marked with grief, but she still smiled. Their gazes were locked even while Anakin was pushed further away. A blue armored guard yanked her back with other adults to be left behind. He saw her mouth move, but he was too far now, and did not hear her words. He knew he had not heard them but there was a curling feeling in his gut, a ringing in his ears that sang out I love you then the door of the ship hissed shut and his life on Tatooine was no more. 


	2. Siege of Ryloth

Anakin was twelve when he was brought to Corellia and enrolled in the Republic Military Academy. He stopped thinking about pirates. He didn’t need to escape into his mother’s bedtime stories anymore. He was off Tatooine and forced into the Grand Army of the Republic. He knew better than to psych himself into caring by thinking his life could be filled with heroic adventures. 

He was fifteen when the galaxy was plunged into war and he was transferred to Coruscant as a commander for the GAR. There was a brief stint with the Republic Defense Academy on Carida, but moving to the Republic’s capital planet became essential as command shifted toward the Jedi. 

Oh yes, the Jedi. Not a myth after all. 

Anakin was sixteen when he finally met one. A Jedi. He almost thought it was a joke, but Admiral Yularen wasn’t exactly the funniest person around. It was his first day on Coruscant, he hadn’t even been settled in a bunk yet and he was introduced to a Jedi master. 

Part of him wanted to be disappointed. He’d spent twelve years on Tatooine hoping to be saved, and though he didn’t put much stock in myths, he always held out hope. But they were real. The Jedi were a real living and breathing Order with real lightsabers and could move things with the Force and all those bells and whistles. They were real.

So what was the excuse for leaving the slaves on his home planet to rot?

He wanted to be disappointed so badly. But the moment he saw the Jedi he couldn’t help but get swept up in undeniable awe. It was like this great glowing feeling curling under his skin and lighting up his nerves. The dark clothed, dark skinned man introduced himself as (Jedi Master) Mace Windu. He held his shoulders straight, hands clasped politely behind his back, but it was a figure that possessed authority. Despite the layers of tunics and cloaks, the hilt of his ‘saber was visible on his belt. It kept catching Anakin’s eye, like he was supposed to look at it and feel this swirling, pulling feeling-

The Admiral had said something, but Anakin had missed it. He refocused. He was standing in a line with other Commanders, other men he’d been trained with, but he swore Master Windu had glanced him over twice now, specifically and not just with a sweeping gaze. The Admiral was still speaking, he needed to get his head out of the clouds. 

“-serve as generals. There will be few exceptions to this. As commanders, you will work under them on your assignment to a Clone Legion. You’ve all been taught and trained in this order, of course, but you will receive assignments within the next two rotations. Dismissed.” 

It obviously wasn’t typical for the Admiral to be the one dispatching orders to a rank of Commanders, but seniority bested rank in this case alone. Anakin already knew he was going to be stuck with Yularen under his command, but nothing else. 

He saluted, as did his peers. Anakin looked once more at the impassive High General and followed out of the briefing room. 

“We’re supposed to be in charge of a  _ Clone _ Legion?” One of the other commanders was quick to break form. His time was biting, condescending, filled with disgust. The loathing echoed on his face. Anakin couldn’t remember his name, and wondered whether he’d ever learned it. 

“What did you  _ think _ was gonna happen?” Another shot back - kriff he didn’t remember  _ any _ of their names. 

“Didn’t expect to be stuck with a crew of bucketheads for every mission. What’s even the point then, they’re like a bunch of droids, they won’t even know what they’re doing!”

“Oh yeah? And what do  _ you _ know about clones?”

None of them knew anything about clones, that was the thing. No one had known anything about them until suddenly, on Geonosis, there they were. They’d stayed ever since. A staple to the Republic’s fight against the Confederacy. Anakin had never heard anyone in high command question the clones, and they never answered queries about them either. Suppose it was more important not to, because the Republic couldn’t have fought without them. 

Anakin didn’t want to hear the rest of that conversation. He also knew that until they were given their assignments, they were on rest. He had two rotations, max, to explore Republic City.

It was bright, brilliant, full of life and  _ speed _ . Everything was fast and flashing. It was the complete opposite of Tatooine in every way imaginable, and for a brief moment Anakin allowed himself to wish his mother was with him. She would have hated Coruscant, and the thought made him almost smile. 

Staring out one of the many grand transparisteel windows, Anakin hadn’t noticed the entourage of politicians until a voice pulled him back to the present. Despite the pragmatic question, the voice was clear, angelic-

“Are you one of the new commanders?” 

When he turned, he had no doubt this was one of the many Galactic Senators- more accurately it was a collection of Senators. It was a woman who had spoken, she stood poised with a man on either side. She was young but clearly had a few years on him. Anakin straightened his posture in a self conscious attempt to appear more presentable, more adult. 

He maintained his first thought: angelic. Her dark hair and dark eyes, with a very determined set to them, were contrasted by her radiant smile. It would have been more dazzling and distracting if he weren’t so confused by her attire. He could never make sense of the extravagance of political dress. If he had to go through some trade negotiations or other such menial and spirit crushing nonsense, he certainly couldn’t do it in some sculptural outfit. How did that not make things even more frustrating? He stared at how her hair was caught and pulled back in some gold, cage-like contraption that he thought must be very heavy, but maybe the layers of bands that stretched up her pale neck were a counterbalance. Her robes were of the richest colors he’d ever seen, deep purples and blues that didn’t exist on Tatooine. Neither of the two men at her side were quite so delicately dressed, their robes were heavier but not entirely dissimilar. One man was tall and had a sculptural face; his high collared robes were a variety of softer, more natural blues. The other at her side looked like a sack of skin and bones masquerading as a person in a wrinkled plum costume. 

The woman was looking at him with one eyebrow politely raised, a small smile on her face. Right, she’d asked him something-

“Yes, Senator-“

“Amidala,” her look was more genuine now. She had a warm voice, a welcoming presence that he’d never met before. It was opposite of both the aggressiveness of Outer Rim low life and the harsh impersonality of the Republic High Command. “And this is Senator Organa and Senator Palpatine.” She introduced each man in turn, the taller one nodded and the wrinkled one grimaced. 

“Commander Skywalker, ma’am. We’re awaiting our regiments, or else I’d be able to tell you my assignment.” He meant it lightly. Anakin had to find humor in his present uselessness or else it would be depressing. 

Senator Amidala’s kindness faltered though, a small furrow of her brow revealing displeasure. “One of the battalions is meant to be sent to Ryloth, are they not?” She directed the question to her companion Senator Palpatine. 

“Well, yes,” a fluttering upturn of his lips forced its way into his face, “I believe the 501st is to have that assignment, though the Jedi are always so hesitant to inform any of us of their actions.”

Anakin had never expected to hear anyone, much less a Senator, speak so harshly and publicly of the Order. He pushed his surprise down to keep it off his face. But his interest was piqued. 

Senator Amidala was less interested in her companion’s obvious criticism, “It’s tragic, what’s happened there. Well, it’s nothing that can be solved by discussing it,” Amidala waved her hand in dismissal and brightened again, “I wish you the best on your assignment. Until we meet again Commander Skywalker.”

He liked the sound of his name from her lips. She had a calm, beautiful air. Anakin felt something much more important had just happened than he could know. 

-

It only took one rotation for Anakin to be commed to meet in the briefing room at 0800. He didn’t know if others had received their assignments yet, and for the first time in four years, he was nervous about his future. 

He was the last to arrive. The Admiral stood at a holotable with three Jedi and a Clone Captain. “Commander,” Yularen addressed him, and Anakin bowed his head. He looked at the holo projection: Ryloth. The Senator’s words were an echo in his head. 

Master Windu, the Jedi from the day before, was the one to dole out his orders, “We’re assigning you to the 501st, with CT-7567 and General Plo Koon.” He motioned to a clone and a Jedi respectively. 

The clone held his helmet under one arm and looked at Anakin with an incredibly focused gaze, but it seemed that level of intensity was just his resting face. His armor was decorated with blue paint and his hair both buzzed and bleached. Anakin tried to take quick note of all of it so he could differentiate him from his brothers later on. 

Since the galaxy had been introduced to the clones, there had been ongoing issues of acceptance. Anakin had seen it time and again with the GAR. Commanders who thought they deserved better than a manufactured crew, people who thought carbon copy troopers were no different than droids- there was this idea that they were all the same, no personality, no thoughts. Anakin knew what that line of ignorance and blind bigotry led to; his childhood was a result of it. 

He looked to the Kel Dor Jedi: his new General. Master Windu and a very short, very old looking Jedi were just present as advisors. Anakin again felt that weird pull under his skin in their presence and avoided looking at them. 

It was this weird mix of desires. He wanted to know more, some part of him calling out to know what the Jedi did. But he didn’t understand it. They were some old, mystic Order, so of course he was curious, but it felt like more than that. It felt like some part of him had always been missing. 

He was always striving for something. On Tatooine, he’d thought it had been a father at first, but he loved his mother too much to stay on that idea long and instead longed for his freedom. Though that freedom was a farce, he was finally considered a citizen and given a life away from slavery; even then Anakin felt this  _ emptiness _ . He tried to fill it with activity and ambition. He focused on his studies, on his training, and continued to devote all his spare time to droids and mechanics, just like he did as a child. But always there was this nagging pull for something more, an inexplicable craving to see the whole galaxy, to hold it in his hands and turn it over and understand every star system and every life from. Anakin was sure there was something greater in the galaxy, always just out of his reach, so he kept it just out of his thoughts. If he pondered it too long then his inability to comprehend it made him restless and angry. 

But something about the Jedi was like a trigger. It was like they knew what he didn’t and he wanted to ask “What is this feeling always burning inside me?” He felt like they could be the balm to that fury. But he knew there was a time and place, and it certainly wasn’t in the debrief room while the Admiral and Master Windu were explaining the situation on Ryloth. 

“Separatists invaded and have refused negotiations. Captain Mar Tuuk of the Trade Federation is leading the battleship above the planet. We’ll have to lead a battalion and secure victory against Tuuk before getting planetside to free the occupied towns from appointed Emir Wat Tambor.” It went without saying that this could not be a drawn out battle. Anything that could be done to speed up victory against Tuuk would be done. 

The urgency of ensuring the Trade Federation didn’t get a hold on the planet took precedence over pleasantries. He did not see either the Jedi general or the captain again until boarding the  _ Resolute.  _ It was surreal, in the span of a few standard hours he had been given an assignment and boarded for his first mission. The GAR really didn’t hold back from plunging people into the thick of it. 

The ship was pulled out of hyperspace and right into a Separatist fleet. Anakin was dimly aware that other Republic fighters had to be appearing behind them, he was too distracted by the scene in front of him. He’d never seen fighting on this scale, such a brazen display of Separatist strength. 

“Under better circumstances, I would have liked to know you before all this.” It was the Jedi speaking, Master Plo Koon. He stood side by side with the clone captain, CT-7567. “Things on Ryloth are worse than we thought, so we’ll split the naval and ground assaults now, and not wait until we’ve secured one victory.” Anakin frowned. It sounded reckless, but no one had said what the planetside situation  _ was _ , and there was little argument to be had under orders. “I’d like you to lead the 501st on Ryloth. You’ll land near Nabat and need to get to the capital, Lessu, if the Republic is to take back control.”

That was a point Anakin  _ did _ want to argue. He was really better suited for a naval attack than leading a ground mission. Granted, he didn’t know enough about the Jedi’s skills to say that one of them would be better at a certain type of command. As far as he knew, Master Plo Koon was a phenomenal pilot, but Anakin figured he was still better. 

“Captain Rex will be with you the whole time while the Admiral and I lead the naval attack.” Anakin looked to the same blond clone he’d met earlier, though his helmet now obscured his face. It was nice to know his name and not just his number. 

“Is there anything I can know about the situation on the planet, sir?” The Jedi had looked ready to leave, and Anakin didn’t want to stall, but he had to know. No details had been given, and if the siege was this bad up here, there was no telling what kind of Separatists forces the surface was crawling with. 

With the mask over his features, it was hard to get a good read on the Jedi’s reaction, but his hesitation spoke volumes. “Wat Tambor has captured Ryloth for the Trade Federation. There’s been obvious resistance from the Twi’leks, but our first go at aid was decimated.” Anakin had the feeling those words had greater weight than the Jedi let on. He did recall some mention of a first mission some time ago, another two generals and their troops sent to reclaim the planet for the Republic. Plo Koon’s avoidance connected the dots. A Jedi had already been killed attempting to do the very thing now assigned to Anakin. “He’s captured Lessu, has Mar Tuuk leading the blockade, and their proton cannons have posed a very dangerous threat to naval attack. Sending help has been impossible.” He felt this was still building towards something, there was a sincerity and dare he say even a desperation to the general that went beyond following orders. This was more than an answering call to some Senator’s complaint of threats and such. And it was more than an informal occupation. There was only one reason to outsource command to one of the villages and not centralize everything to the capital: civilians. And there was only one reason to involve civilians in the occupation- “The people of Ryloth have been captured with enslavement as the end goal.”

And there it was. The detail that made Anakin’s blood boil. He kept himself from speaking with a clench of his jaw and a nervous tightening of his fist. It was only four years since he’d left Tatooine, the memories were fresh enough. And he’d heard of it happening in other systems. Separatists invaded and under Trade Federation desire for resources and economic security and just blatant  _ greed _ , the planet’s natives were enslaved, their lives destroyed to line the pockets of a few bankers and diplomats. It made him sick. No- it did more than that. It ignited him with a force of pure anger that went beyond both words and actions. He knew he shouldn’t think about, shouldn’t stew in those roiling feelings but  _ kriff _ just the idea of it-

“For this reason we must act swiftly to end the siege and free the people of Ryloth.” 

“Of course, General,” Anakin nodded. He didn’t manage to keep the tension out of his voice like he would have liked to, like a better Commander would have been able to do. 

He thought things were bad enough from the air, where he could see the fleet of Separatist ships through the viewport. But somehow it was worse on Ryloth’s surface. 

Droids were everywhere. Twi’leks were not.

Nabat was devoid of civilian life. The village was empty street after empty street, no sign of anyone. 

For a moment, Anakin felt lost in it. Not just because the silence on the surface was certainly overwhelming, and the dry, desert terrain was all too familiar- but because he was in command. He knew that distantly above him General Plo Koon was concerned with the naval fleet, but here he was, alone to lead the ground mission. It felt like a very huge moment that shouldn’t be blown over, but he didn’t have the luxury to revel in it. 

“What are your orders, sir?” Rex pulled him out of that thought and grounded him in what was happening. Of course he knew that, knew where his priorities should have been- no, where his priorities  _ were- _

Anakin had to quash the anger in him. Everyone who lived in Nabat had been taken away, rounded up to be enslaved. And only now were the Jedi stepping in? Only because of Separatists, only because that’s what the Republic wanted? This couldn’t all have happened in a moment- this wasn’t a sudden thing. No one had been in these buildings for longer than the siege had been, so had the Jedi, these keepers of peace, just ignored the issue because it’s not what the Republic wanted? Were they such pawns that they’d let slavery go unchecked, like they always did? Did they only care because the Senator’s interests were at stake- he knew too well what was really being threatened. It was too familiar. And the Jedi did nothing until the Republic commanded it of them. 

“We’ve got to take out the cannons first,” Anakin stated, casting a glance at Rex. That was their first goal, doing what they could to help with the naval fleet before they could lead the humanitarian mission. He didn’t want that to be the priority, but he was only commander and acting under orders. He couldn’t botch his first mission- and if the naval fleet wasn’t successful then all of this would be for nothing anyway. 

As soon as they’d begun, his concept of everything was skewed- time, place, priorities.

Everything was a whirl, which is really a rather unhelpful description. No, more accurately Anakin had this tunnel vision with it all. As they moved from the empty streets of Nabat into combat with the droid battalion, everything clicked into place. His blaster felt an extension of his body, and his men an extension of his mind. Him and Rex were a natural fit, spouting off and understanding commands in unison, and there was an undercurrent of pride as they watched the 501st skillfully take down droid pods. They all knew their target, and with each push of their front forward, Anakin knew they were closer to providing freedom. Everything felt right, and Anakin loved the adrenaline of it, even when he knew he shouldn’t. With what was at stake, his focus shouldn’t have been- well regardless of the stakes he shouldn’t have  _ ever _ focused on his enjoyment, the thrill he was getting out of the fight. The people of Ryloth were at stake and he felt like it was his first pod race. 

“Rex, push the men forward to Lessu. I’ll check in with General Plo Koon.”

“Copy that sir,” 

Anakin had decided he liked Captain Rex. He fought well- he fought  _ really kriffing _ well and there was no denying it. He was seamless with the men, there weren't any butting heads or issues in command that Anakin had expected. Both the team and it’s leader were a perfect fit.

Anakin had ignored two beeps from his com link when they overtook the cannons, not wanting to drag his attention away for even a second. Now was the time though, as he stepped away from his men and regained steady breathing he set the holo in front of him and commed the general. 

It only took a moment for a reply, and the little blue holo figure of the Jedi flickered to life. “Commander Skywalker, report.”

“General, we’ve destroyed the cannons and plan to move forward to Lessu against Tambor. How goes it on the naval front?”

“Mar Tuuk certainly didn’t go easy, but we’ve secured his vessel and are awaiting news from Council about securing Republic hold on the planet. How are the people on Ryloth?”

Anakin felt that displaced anger again, and he knew it was wrong of him to feel it but somehow felt it was even more wrong for the Jedi to ask that of him- how could they pretend to care about the wellbeing of slaves now when they couldn’t be bothered in Tatoo? 

“They’ve seen better-“ his voice came out rougher, less forgiving than he’d intended. “The Separatists didn’t go easy on them, but Nabat is liberated. No word has gotten out from Lessu, not even from their freedom fighters.”

They knew there was a Twi’lek Resistance movement on the planet, made up of the same radicals who opposed the Senator before all of this. It was the same type of opposition that existed on just about every planet: the Senator wasn’t supporting the interests of the people, so they starved while he lived in luxury. And this had sort of culminated in proof of that; while Senator Orn Free Taa sat fat and happy on Coruscant, his planet had been invaded for trade and resource benefits, and the people enslaved.

Anakin’s comlink beeped, he signed off from the general and answered the communication from Rex. 

He didn’t even have a chance to speak before the clone captain- he was shouting- cut in “Commander, there’s a situation on the Lessu front.”

Anakin's mind filled with images of his men, or worse, of Twi’leks slaughtered in their home- worse than when they arrived in Nabat, but everyone killed for the sake of Separatist control. 

“What is it Rex? Is everyone alright?”

There was a slight pause and Anakin ran cold. 

“It’s hard to explain sir-“ Not reassuring but better than  _ everyone’s dead _ he supposed- “The men are fine, as are the civilians. We’re with the Resistance leader Syndulla right now.”

“Wait-“ if they were already with Syndulla, why weren’t they bothering with Tambor? Was the Separatist that easy of a target? Had he seen the success of the naval fleet and the liberation of Nabat and decided to just  _ leave _ ? “What about Tambor?”

“That would be part of the issue sir. He’s gone.”

He frowned, “I’m on my way-“ it was an informal and entirely unprofessional sign of. Anakin sped alone from Nabat to Lessu. Despite Rex’s assurance that everything was fine, he was anxious- terrified even. It was hard to clarify what he felt - a particular uncertainty that he was becoming all too familiar with; he’d never grappled with his emotions like this before - but there was undeniably an element of frustration. So these Separatists would just invade the planet, destroy lives and leave when things got too hard? That really couldn’t be the same force the Republic had been fighting all this time if they couldn’t even hold a planet for a full siege. Really, that might have been a testament to the strength of Republic forces, but Anakin didn’t think that’s what it was. No, this wasn’t some proof that the GAR had such a show of arms it caused their opponent to flee at the sight of them. It wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like a win, and it wasn’t even a surrender. It was something weak, a power so impersonal and so insubstantial shouldn’t be able to hold the lives of others so casually but so definitely. Ryloth’s prosperity shouldn’t have hinged on the whim of cowards.

“So what in Sith’s  _ hell- _ “ Anakin had already been biting off his complaint as he leapt off his speeder in front of his men. But he understood instantly. 

Rex could and  _ should  _ have been more clear - or Anakin should have given him even a second to actually explain, but those details didn’t matter. He had said “he’s gone,” failing to clarify that  _ gone _ didn’t mean absconded, but meant dead. Wat Tambor was dead, his body left positioned in front of Lessu’s citadel. It was like some charade. 

It was gruesome. 

Wat Tambor has been strung up so he couldn’t be missed- it was a crude contraption that echoed outdated hanging executions. But it was clear the man wasn’t tortured, just displayed. His death had been swift. He was split in two, body severed at his waist. It was a clean cut through, and as Anakin approached, he could see the body was still smoking. It was a very distinct sight (and smell), the charred flesh but a cut like a blade. 

It could only be done by a lightsaber. 

“The Council won’t like this,” Anakin turned to Rex, rolling his eyes and already comming the General. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering how this can be tagged what it is, TITLED what it is, yet there has been no sexy pirate obi-wan yet and you just wanna know where in the flying fuck obi is… you and me both honestly.


	3. Conspiracies on Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: dramatic irony and empty promises  
> aka I will Not subtly world build but I will take my sweet ass time

“Curious, this matter is.” Master Yoda wasn’t pleased. Plo Koon hadn’t been either when Anakin reported what had happened, the way Wat Tambor had been strung up and killed - or really killed _then_ strung up which everyone agreed was how things must have happened. 

It had made a swift end to their problems on Ryloth. Tuuk had surrendered, and with Tambor dead, it meant the Separatist hold on the planet was eliminated. And that was as far as the GAR was concerned. Anakin’s duties stopped with securing Republic victory and reestablishing power on Ryloth. But a swift end to _those_ problems did not mean a swift end to _all_ problems. 

Which is why they were here. Anakin knew his presence really made no sense. They were gathered in a briefing room, but he was sure it was because bringing him into the Council chambers at the Jedi Temple would have been even more inappropriate. It wasn’t a grand gathering, but Anakin was sure anything he could say, any question he could answer, it could all be covered by his General. 

There was also that feeling again, and he wanted to get out of their company and clear his head.

But Master Plo Koon has insisted, he had openly told the Council that “Skywalker’s skill was crucial to securing Ryloth with the speed that we did.” It was like they actually _wanted_ his opinion. It felt like a set up. 

Yoda’s dull _curious_ didn’t even cover the half of it.

“I’m not saying I thought a Jedi was to blame,” Anakin said defensively. They’d been gathered in discussion for hours. There was no end to the patience of the Jedi. “But I don’t know any other weapon that could cut through someone like that. And the General _agreed-_ “

“As does the Council,” Mace Windu cut in. “There was no reason to remain on Ryloth and investigate the matter, we can’t spare any Jedi and the Senate would have considered it overstepping.”

“With all due respect, I disagree.” Anakin couldn’t read Yoda’s face at all, which continued to make him uncomfortable. But he swore the little green Jedi was smiling at his stubbornness. He pressed forward with his argument. “The planet was _just_ freed and we had yet to meet with Cham Syndulla when we received orders to return to Coruscant immediately. The General, Rex, and I were given no time to figure out what happened even though that’s the expected procedure. Wat Tambor was killed and displayed. We were _meant_ to see it and someone who was already planetside had to have done it. What I don’t understand is why the Council would agree to _drop_ the matter when this was a _very_ calculated move and we’ve lost our best lead.”

Anakin thought it was a compelling point. If anyone was implicated in the attack it would be the Jedi, not the GAR. If word got out that Tambor was slaughtered and hung up like some sort of game or trophy, it was the _Jedi_ who would look like killers. It wouldn’t matter that this was war and they probably would have killed him anyway, the point was that the manner in which he was killed was gruesome and honestly, theatrical. It was the work of someone who took pride in killing and showed no mercy. It would make people distrust the Jedi. It would make the _Senate_ distrust the Jedi. 

Anakin expected to be reprimanded for the outburst (despite the fact he was right). Plo Koon’s mask yet again conveniently hid any micro expressions, but Windu raised an eyebrow in curiosity, not criticism. “Did you notice anything on Ryloth, Skywalker?”

Wasn’t that what this all about? That they noticed the glaringly obvious body of a Separatist leader severed and displayed in occupied territory? “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

Windu was patient in clarifying “Other than what you have briefed us on, did anything feel off? Was there a bad feeling, something instinctual?”

Like that pull in his veins he felt around the Jedi. Anakin was again aware that this felt like a set up, like he was being led by the Council but he didn’t know why. 

“I-“ he abandoned his first thought, to deny the feeling, “I’m not sure, sir. I wasn’t exactly put at ease at the sight of Tambor. I didn’t take the time to notice much else.”

“Much thanks, young Skywalker.” Now it was Master Yoda addressing him. “Speak again, we will. Dismissed, you are.”

He deeply felt that he’d missed something somehow. 

But Anakin was glad to be released. He leaned more towards action than talking; he knew debriefing was a very crucial part of military tactic but that didn’t make it any more tolerable. If he was supposed to be serving the Republic, then he wanted to actually be _doing_ something, not just planning attacks and updating the Council. 

That displeasure had him thinking though, and his head was entirely occupied with his own thoughts, the movement of his feet was subconscious. In this haze he moved through the Senate building, but part of him knew where he wanted to go. He didn’t agree with the Council, something felt off and he’d only heard one person voice that same sentiment. 

“I’d like to speak with the Senator of Naboo.” Anakin demanded of a protocol droid. Its high, clear voice said “Right this way.” His thoughts were still rolling as he followed, thought nothing of it when he was asked to wait outside a room before the droid returned with a perfunctory “The Senator is ready to see you.”

“Commander Skywalker, this is a surprise.” It was not the voice he expected and suddenly Anakin’s hands were sweating and he felt unsteady. 

“I- My apologies, I was actually expecting the _other_ Senator.”

Anakin hadn’t specified which Senator. In his mind he was only thinking of the old man, who had been so pessimistic about the Council in their brief meeting before. He hadn’t realized that making the vague, generic enough request he had would have led to _this_ Senator standing before him- which was even more ridiculous because obviously the droid couldn’t have read his mind and he was the one now standing in _her_ office-

“Senator Palpatine is in a meeting. I’d be glad to help in any way I can though.” Amidala’s smile was dazzling and genuine, just like it had been the first time. It made him feel less nervous, but not less stupid for his blunder. 

“It wasn’t anything important,” Anakin dismissed, but he was trying to be polite. Really it had been stupid, to seek out the old man on a whim just because he was angry at the Council. “I wanted to ask him about something he said before my mission to Ryloth.”

And that seemed to strike something with her. Politeness transformed into genuine curiosity. “I’m afraid I don’t remember the conversation as well.”

No, she wouldn’t have had any reason to. It was his introduction to Coruscant, to the Senate, and to the Jedi. Lots had happened for _him_ , but he supposed those sort of things were mundane to her. “The Senator expressed a dislike for how the Jedi handled Republic affairs, their control of the GAR. He didn’t say much, but I had the feeling he was more upset than he was letting on.”

She sat down at her desk. Her look was still amiable, but clouded. Why did every conversation go like this now? Everyone he talked to seemed to have a much deeper agenda in mind; still waters and such. “Yes, it’s very likely he wanted to say more. It seems you have quite a head for politics then, Commander.”

“It’s Anakin, please.” He didn’t like the stiff formality. “And really, I can’t stand politics. But I don’t like lying either- and I’m _not_ saying the Senator is a liar-“ he started rambling defensively because would that count as treason? To just storm in here on some intuition and basically accuse a politician he didn’t even know of being a _liar_?

“But he was being subversive, discreet,” she waved a hand to allude to the millions of synonyms to agree that yes, Palpatine had been deceitful in some way. The movement mostly caught his eye for the way it made the fabric of her sleeve roll and shimmer. It made even the smallest motions all the more extravagant. But he couldn’t linger on studying her prime display of Core fashion because Amidala became that much more serious. Though even with that determined look she was stunning. “Not everyone trusts the Jedi, not everyone in the Republic or in the Senate. We rely on them, they’re peacekeepers and their aid in the war has been crucial. But war should not be sought after-“ he knew this was _her_ philosophy, and not some sweeping statement- “and while the Republic fights in the name of peace, there are those who have become paranoid of what’s really at stake. Wars are fought to gain _power_ at the cost of lives.”

Anakin knew all this, but he didn’t let himself think about the philosophies of war. This was just like talking to the Council- discussing the morality of things didn’t change the fact of the matter: the Republic was at war and he was fighting in it. Thinking about it would only make the necessary things harder. “I know all this, but what does it have to do with Senator Palpatine?” Sure he was the one who’d dumbly showed up with questions, but her train of thought had lost him. 

The way she sat back and held her head was regal, and Anakin was aware of how he stood lamely in the room, cap under his arm. 

“Senator Palpatine and I, as well as many others in the Republic, strive for peace talks and an end to the war. But even then he does not always trust the Jedi. He thinks they… overlook things, but have used their newly instated military command to gain power.”

Oh. Well, Anakin understood the fear. When he was young he believed the Jedi weren’t real, and now he couldn’t imagine anyone in the galaxy thought that. Amidala was right, they were at the center of the Republic’s war effort, but military command wasn’t part of their ideals. It was a complicated situation and the accusation that they were using combat to amass political control wasn’t unfounded. 

“Anakin, you seem worried about more than just my _peer_ ’s opinion on all this.”

Her question egged him on, it pushed him to question the war at large in the way he very carefully never allowed himself to. Anakin paced, then dropped into one of the seats in front of her desk and stared imploringly.

“What if there is a plot to undermine the Jedi?”

Anakin’s thoughts were scrambled and half formed in his head- This was a much heavier accusation than calling Palpatine a liar. “What if there’s some sort of conspiracy against them? It wouldn’t be out of place, if there are enough who distrust their command of the GAR, their involvement with the Republic.”

“Are you saying you think Senator Palpatine is leading a conspiracy against the Jedi?”

“ _No-_ “ he shook his head adamantly. He knew how crazy it sounded, and he knew he had no place to voice any of this. He’d only come here to have a chat with Palpatine and now he was rambling about some half baked conspiracy theory to _Senator Amidala_ and he could lose his position for this and wouldn’t that just round off his military career _very_ nicely- “I don’t know what I’m saying, _kriff_ -“

His comlink chirped and Anakin knew his face was red from surprise, embarrassment- the mortification that he was making a real fool of himself for no reason and now was going to get called away with no chance to explain. 

“I-“ his comm beeped again and he rolled his eyes, frustrated with himself beyond words. 

“It’s alright,” her smile was polite, appeasing and very political. “Please, duty calls. I would be glad to speak more when you have time, Commander Skywalker.” 

His title really slid the formality back in place, solidifying that he’d ruined any chance to explain himself properly. 

He’d kriffed that up good and proper. He didn’t know how to explain himself though. He just had this feeling that _something_ was off, and pinning it on some idea of a conspiracy gave him a sort of framework for his thoughts. Only something covert and sinister would fill that gap that connected the dots, connecting his gut feeling to what happened on Ryloth and why the Jedi seemed so skeptical, but shared no details. 

He couldn’t keep ignoring his summons though. He walked back through the Senate building no more reassured of the state of the galaxy than he had been before meeting with Senator Amidala. 

-

It wasn’t like he chose to be part of the GAR, but when he’d thought about his future and his command, he expected things to make sense at the _very_ least. He could never have anticipated working closely with Jedi, or what happened on Ryloth, or now this. Last he checked, Mandalore was a neutral system and a Republic Commander would have no place there. Yet still, here he was, being assigned to a mission for the Duchess of Mandalore. 

“The Duchess has made it quite clear that this entreaty is not a display of favoritism.” Mace Windu’s arms were crossed in front of him, and he had this deeply furrowed look on his face. “However, because the issue may not involve just her system, she’s allowed - at the recommendation of Senator Amidala - a representative of the GAR to investigate the matter.” 

“Will I be sent alone, or with a squadron?”

“Not a squadron. We want to maintain that this is a peaceful envoy, in line with their pacifist stance. You’ll be with Master Plo Koon though. We also cannot guarantee she hasn’t asked the same aid of the Separatists.”

The Duchess was worried about a smuggling operation that was using her planet as a base, since Mandalore’s neutral stance made it quite the trade hub. It had open communications with Separatist and Republic forces alike, and had maintained a protocol against any weapons dealing. But it seemed someone had taken advantage of more relaxed trade security to run a black market right under Duchess Satine’s nose. The Senate had conveyed as politely as possible that she was beyond pissed. She wanted to take care of matters on her own, for obvious reasons, but instead heeded the advice of Senator Amidala that if a weapons smuggling operation was trying to take root on her planet, it needed more attention than she alone would be able to give it, and would be in the interest of both sides of the war. The Republic didn’t want to lose a neutral system to the Separatists, and the Trade Federation didn’t want their war profiteering to be undermined by a developing black market arms industry. So she had reluctantly agreed to let a third party investigate. The Jedi were the obvious choice, and she allowed a GAR representative, and Anakin agreed it was likely she’d allow a Sepratist to be present as well. 

It was a riveting display of galaxy politics that made Anakin want to slam his head into a durasteel wall.

“I would like to remind you before you go that this mission _must_ be nonviolent. We can’t have anyone accusing you and the Republic of anything, even if you’ve been invited by the Duchess. You will have no authority there. Citizens won’t be required to comply with anything you say, and neither will the Duchess. You’ll be operating on Mandalore’s terms, not the Republic’s. And Skywalker-“ Anakin already knew all this and felt numb during Windu’s list of bland reminders, but he raised a brow at the very pointed last comment

“May the Force be with you.”

-

“Right so how long is this supposed to take?” Anakin had his feet propped up on the control console and he had the distinct impression Master Plo Koon was irritated. 

“Patience, Skywalker.” 

He’d been mulling over and fighting his nerves the whole flight. Anakin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he had that deep, red hot embarrassment from his mess of a conversation with Senator Amidala. And now he was going to be useless on this mission. It was all like one big joke. 

The only reassurance was that Mandalore was beautiful. Well, _most_ of the planet was ugly, ravaged from war. In that way, it wasn’t unlike Tatooine, which was once vibrant as well. But it was war, not time, that had destroyed everything but this isolated haven of a city. It was no comparison to Coruscant, but Anakin still thought it was quite nice. It didn’t cover his wariness though; it’s metropolitan beauty wasn’t so distracting that he focused on anything other than the abundance of guards or the formality of the protocol droid that led them away from the private landing pad. It was nice, it was rich, and Anakin didn’t feel safe at all. 

“Thank you so much for agreeing to this,” The Duchess was friendlier than Anakin had expected. She still had something quite sharp about her gaze though. He could see how she was friends with Senator Amidala, if their similar taste in fashion was anything to go by: extravagant, showy, and entirely inconvenient. “May I introduce Baron Rush Clovis, a representative of the Trade Federation. He’ll be joining the both of you to round out your little investigation.” Her voice was almost teasing, like she knew that gathering three mediators like this was some diplomatic game, and it was stupid. 

The man was ever her opposite. Where she was lithe and pale, dressed in blues that matched everything else in the city, Clovis was a blocky man decked out in gold. They were alike only in their diplomatic presence. Anakin was growing very used to feeling inadequate standing around with Jedi and Senators and now a Duchess and Baron, all these people with fancy titles and roles and he was just some GAR commander in standard grey slacks, not even allowed to grow his hair out. It wasn’t like he had some secret penchant for fashion, he just wanted to have a _choice_ in his life. 

“I didn’t realize the Republic had taken to filling their command with _children_ ,” Anakin quickly decided he did not like Clovis. Actually, he hated him. The Sepratist was sneering, eyeing the Duchess like they had some private joke, “Though I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising given their army. At least the clones don’t look so… _juvenile_.”

The Duchess wasn’t amused, but her preference for neutrality extended to not instigating an argument, she pressed on like nothing was said. “I’ve informed my guard that the three of you have full access to our trade warehouses and public buildings. Question whoever you need to, just please get to the bottom of this. I’ll be glad to assist in any way I can, so please, do not hesitate to ask. Now then,” her polite smile was an echo of Senator Amidala’s. “There will be a dinner this evening, but I can’t force you to attend, though I would enjoy it. A droid will show you to your rooms now.”

As surely as he decided to cast judgement on Clovis, Anakin was hesitant with the Satine. She was ever the perfect diplomat, just polite and formal enough to seem inviting, but there was an impersonality behind it. But even then she wasn’t like Senator Amidala, who seemed to rely on conveying kindness to win people over. The Duchess wasn’t severe exactly, but her eyes were much more calculating and if Anakin didn’t know about her dedication to pacifism, he’d assume she was ruthless. 

“General, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to look around,” Anakin addressed Master Koon once they’d left the throne room. He didn’t know what the Jedi’s plans were, but Anakin didn’t want to just hang around in the palace and wait for some fancy dinner. 

“Be cautious, Commander.” And while Anakin was still no expert on reading the Kel Dor’s expressions, he was certain that look expressed zero faith in his ability to be discreet. 

Anakin snuck away from the palace hall, wanting to get down to the warehouse. There not only had to be someone running the weapons transport, but also the many hands doing the menial work just to carry it out. And there was a good chance some bribed, some credits, _something_ had changed hands even among official workers to keep the whole operation going. 

But the warehouse was, unsurprisingly, a complete waste of time. It was a dead end. There was nothing out of place, nothing sketchy, nothing even gave him a bad or uneasy feeling. But this was also kriffing stupid because he’s a pilot not an investigator. He was again frustrated with the mission, not even knowing what they should be looking for. It was naive to think that the three of them could just discover a whole smuggling ring in the making and overthrow it before it became an issue. He knew from growing up in Hutt space that criminal spheres weren’t _that_ blatant when they didn’t want to be. 

He looked around the rest of the industrial district to the same effect: nothing. Either these were some very smart dealers, or he was a shit investigator. Both could be true and he wouldn’t even care. His comm beeped, and he knew before answering that it was Plo, advising him to return and not be a rude guest. 

-

He ended up looking like a rude guest anyway, or _felt_ like one because he knew how much he stuck out. Both the Duchess and Clovis had changed into elegant attire, the Jedi had an excuse not to, but Anakin only had his uniform and felt inadequate all over again. This wouldn’t be an issue if he weren’t just some kriffing commander. And he was already annoyed with not having found any sign of a black market trade yet, and then Clovis had that smug look on his face and Anakin wanted to know how it’d look floating in the vacuum of space. 

“How is our dear friend Senator Amidala? I’m afraid I haven’t been able to see her in ages.” Clovis’ voice was just dripping with malice. How did he even know the Senator anyway? She was an angel and he was a shit eating sleemo. 

“She’s continuing her fight to end the war, of course.” Duchess Satine was softer when she spoke of her friend, there was real affection there. “Commander Skywalker, you’re acquainted with Padme, are you not?”

Acquainted was a too loose term. It didn’t cover that he’d met her, maybe developed some puppy love crush that he would never admit to, then made an idiot of himself in the span of two interactions, and oh yeah that he’d kind of accused her co-Senator of treason. “We’ve met, but I haven’t much time on Coruscant between missions.”

“So your appointment is new then?” Clovis posed the question and Anakin knew it was to lead him to say something, but not knowing what he strung along. 

“Yes. Ryloth was my first mission.”

“Ryloth? Isn’t that quite the responsibility for someone so young and inexperienced. It’s no wonder it went the way it did.”

“Freeing the people of Ryloth went perfectly, but that wouldn’t have been an issue if _your_ Trade Federation hadn’t enslaved them in the first place.”

“Gentlemen, please-“

“No,” Clovis held up a hand, as though he didn’t mind the accusation and he was ready to let it go, but his eyes burned with something more. “I would like to know Skywalker’s explanation, since clearly it was _my_ fault that Wat Tambor was murdered, brutalized- no, _slaughtered_ the way he was. They say he was strung up and severed in half. How fascinating-“

“It’s no less than he deserved for destroying the planet like he did-“

“That will be quite enough.” The Duchess stared between both of them with complete sincerity and command. Any trace of niceties was gone, and Anakin was reminded of his assessment that she was ruthless. It made him understand how she could scare down opposition for so long, how she could rule so seamlessly through peace amidst a war. He understood how she was close to Senator Amidala, from what he could tell they had the same passion, just different ways of showing it. “I understand there are fundamental differences between the two of you, but so long as you are here, or at the very least while you are in _my_ company, I expect you to act civil.”

Anakin seriously hoped this wouldn’t all need to be included in Plo Koon’s reports to the Council, as if he wasn’t mortified enough already. 

Whatever else the Duchess was going to tack on to the dressing down was cut off by a guard approaching and sharing some hushed words with her. She frowned more than she already was. 

“An unmarked craft has been sighted, and there is a possibility it came from Concordia. We can cut this short so you might investigate the matter. It would only make sense to use the moon as a base of smuggling operations.” 

He assumed she wouldn’t be joining them, but she did not part from their group as a guard led them out to the same private pad they’d landed on that morning. One of the Duchess’ ships was already waiting for them. 

The same guard - who Anakin had to assume was of some more elite and trusted variety than just a palace security detail - piloted their craft out of the Sundari palace and through the city. The industrial sector was even emptier at night, and though it had shown him nothing earlier, seeing the place at night filled Anakin with a certain anticipation. Maybe they were on to something, and he could prove he could figure this out. He wasn’t just proving it to Clovis, or to Plo Koon or the Duchess, and even to the Council that he could have investigated Ryloth as well if he’d been given a chance, but he was also proving it to himself to make up for that constant, nagging inadequacy. 

He leapt out of the cruiser before it had fully halted, feeling antsy. They were on some docking station, and there was no sight of any other ships, or of anything else at all for that matter. Mandalore was unusually empty. Coruscant was bustling with life no matter where you went, there was some kind of culture, some kind of excitement to be found in every cranny of the city planet. But here? Mandalore was like a ghost city. Sure, there was the Peace Park and the dazzling display of urban life, the palace in all its glory- but there weren’t people living and filling the spaces with the same authentic energy that Anakin expected. Parts of Tatooine had been more lively than this. 

“This way-“ he looked back at the Duchess - _when_ had she had time to change? - and followed her through a path of shipping containers. They formed a neat little line, Satine leading the way with a deactivator in hand, Anakin just behind her and very aware of the blaster on his hip, Plo Koon and then Clovis bringing up the rear. He doubted he had their six very well, but if anyone snuck up on them then the Separatist would be first to go, and what a shame that would be. 

There was a strip of bare durasteel ground, where no containers had been placed, and there was indeed a ship. It wasn’t some large freighter, but it wasn’t a speeder. Just some plain ship. That’s what made it weird. If this was a decent smuggling operation, then they’d at least have the ship equipped for it. This vessel couldn’t even make a speedy getaway. Anakin would guess the whole Republic Armada would make the jump to hyperspace faster than this pile of junk could. The only distinctive thing about it was a great red decal on the side. It was like a crescent, but from the center arc was the head of a bird and something like flames. It was quite eye catching, and Anakin had a very bad feeling about it. 

“There’s no one here,” Master Koon stated. Anakin had been sure of the same thing, but wondered whether the Jedi used the Force to be so certain. 

“We should check out the ship, find out what we’re dealing with-“

“No,” the Duchess cut Anakin off, and he was too surprised to bother being offended. “If there’s no one here then there’s nothing to be gained. We will need proof of their involvement in smuggling if anything is to be done.”

Anakin frowned, disagreeing entirely, and unfortunately Clovis seemed to be on his side. So they were just supposed to _not_ investigate this very obvious lead? The Duchess cast one more glance at the ship - a worried look that was unsettling because it appeared she was bothered not by the craft but by something else, like she was familiar with it - and then turned back. She walked towards their ship as though nothing had happened. Clovis followed like a loyal dog. 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Anakin muttered to himself, and didn’t expect the slightly muffled, staticky voice of Plo Koon to reply. 

“As do I, Commander.” 

“What, so we're just supposed to go back to the palace and forget about this? No, it’s too suspect to ignore.”

“While I agree, I believe the Duchess is right that nothing can be gained without proof. While we can investigate on our own terms, it will be up to Mandalore’s government to deal with the problem; justice must be on the Duchess’ terms.”

Which Anakin supposed was true. They couldn’t hurl accusations without proof, but this ship was their best way of _getting_ proof. The Jedi continued in opposition to his displeasure. “You’re welcome to stay here all night and watch the ship, but there’s no guarantee it will help uncover the active smuggling operation and it will, instead, make the Duchess feel unheard by you, and therefore by the Republic.”

Great. So yeah, he _was_ just supposed to go back to the palace like there wasn’t a big karking clue right in front of them, practically wrapped up with a bow on top it was so easy. 

But he wasn’t about to ruin the whole mission when his General was not so discreetly telling him to let the matter go. He wouldn’t be disobeying orders _exactly_ if he went ahead, but it would be as close as he could get with a bantha sized pile of disappointment loaded on top. 

“Fine.”

Clovis eyed him when they returned to the ship, and Anakin was just stewing in his displeasure. 

“Look,” the Separatist lingered in the hold and pulled Anakin aside. The Duchess and Jedi continued inside either not noticing or not caring. “I don’t like you, but neither one of us wants this smuggling trade to continue, so we’ve got a mutual interest here.” These were just facts, and Anakin didn’t like where this was leading, but he raised an eyebrow in an unspoken _go on_. “The Duchess doesn’t want us checking out that ship, I don’t know why, but I’m not happy about it either. I say we go back in the morning.” 

This did not at all change his very set decision that he hated Clovis, but at least the man wanted to investigate. And going in it together would be better than alone. 

He conceded “Fine, but only because I want to get off this planet.”

Clovis had a mocking smile, like he knew Anakin’s interest was in fighting, not diplomacy, and like he thought it was a juvenile fixation. 

-

“Commander Skywalker, I did not expect to see you so early.” Master Plo Koon was sitting outside the palace, in the seclusion of a small garden patch. He had been meditating. It was early, and it was true Anakin wasn’t one for waking up before he was required to, but he had his agreement to uphold. 

“Rush Clovis and I agreed to go see that ship again.”

“You’re working with Clovis?”

Anakin crossed his arms, “Is there an issue with that sir? My understanding was that was exactly what we’re supposed to do.”

There was maybe a hint of pleasant surprise in his voice, “No, there’s no issue. It’s a good plan, actually. I trust you will not need me for this, so may the-“

Anakin gladly would have listened to the rest of whatever the Jedi was saying but he was distracted by what _had_ to just be a hallucination because there was no _kriffing way-_

“The ship! That’s the ship!” 

It was just innocently sat there on the palace landing pad and Anakin had to stare at it wide eyed. It was _definitely_ the same ship, the red emblem obvious and blazing on the side, unmistakable. But there were no alarms, no wary palace guards - was this why Satine didn’t want them to check out the ship? Was she a part of all this?

“Skywalker I recommend we go about this carefully-“

“That’s the _kriffing_ _ship_!”

The landing pad was on a balcony two levels up and fury was Anakin’s driving force as he rushed back into the palace. He hated this mission, it had been stupid to begin with, getting called in to lead some investigation for a neutral planet and getting pulled from a real fight. And now it was some grand conspiracy, the Duchess probably involved in the smuggling- then why did she want a third party investigation in the first place?

“Skywalker?” Clovis saw him sprinting down the hall - was General Koon following, or had he just gone back to his meditation in the name of caution? “What’s going on?!”

“It’s here.” He didn’t have time to talk, and was just yelling in response, passing Clovis without a glance. 

“ _What’s_ here?”

“The bleeding ship!”

He didn’t want to take a life because it would be too slow, so Anakin rounded a corner and kept his pace up a flight of stairs. He could hear more footsteps behind him. 

Anakin didn’t even know if he was burning because he’d just run through half the palace or if it was because he was that kriffing _pissed_ but when he got out to the landing strip and the whole of Mandalore opened up to him again he was going to lose it. The ship seemed so far away, out on the edge of the landing pad and visibly rumbling about to take off. 

He had no doubt in his mind that it was key to the whole operation- this ship, whoever it belonged to, why it was at the palace. He didn’t even care for the details, he just _knew_ it had to be stopped. 

“Stop that ship!” 

A few crew and palace guards looked at him blankly and he stupidly remembered that he had no authority here. No one had to listen to him. So they didn’t. They just watched him reach the end of the landing pad and stare at the ship already in the air, hovering and pulling away in take off. The ship had open sides, and Anakin could see a man standing through the port, holding on to a grip above him like he was posing for some bad holonet movie. He cut a stark, dramatic figure against the sky passing behind him, and he couldn’t see the face well but he got the idea of a smug, roguish look, because they both knew how close he’d been to getting caught. It was like none of it was real; he was reminded where he was, not Mandalore specifically but the Outer Rim. This was what he’d grown up on, the stories he knew. This wasn’t the Jedi or the Senate and diplomacy and all the other shit that had filled the past four years of his life. 

“We have to go after it-“ He turned on the spot, glaring around the pad, looking for a speeder, for anything. 

“Skywalker-“ he thought Clovis was the one standing at his shoulder, but it was Plo Koon, “We must be patient, we don’t know-“

“There's no _time_ for that-“

“You are angry, you cannot let your emotions control you-“

“I’m not a kriffing Jedi,” Anakin whipped around to glare at him instead of at the pad. He stared singularly and accusingly at the General. He wasn’t a Jedi, he could feel whatever he wanted to, and right now he had every right to be absolutely pissed that _that man_ was getting away, pulling further into the sky and blasting into Mandalore’s atmosphere unhindered. “You don’t understand-“

“We must meet with the Duchess, and perhaps you can explain then.” He swore the Kel Dor sounded offended, taken aback for some reason, but this wasn’t about him- They had to confront the Duchess. 

-

“So when were you going to tell us you had an issue with pirates?”

“Woah, wait a second-“ It was Clovis who let out a tense laugh, like Anakin was just some kid again and playing a game. Typical of some Baron elite, some Separatist scum to think this wasn’t real. But he was dead serious. 

Anakin pressed ahead, “You withheld information Duchess, and put Mandalore at risk. So, tell us what was that ship doing here and who was on it?”

He couldn’t say Satine looked particularly ashamed, but she didn’t look innocent either. Her lips were pulled in a tight line of disapproval, but the worried set of her brows wasn’t for safety or for her people, but for some sort of ruined plan or uncovered secret. When she started speaking, her face continued to display a displeasure as though this wasn’t what she wanted to say.

“I should not have called for your intervention. While I have appreciated both your aid and your company, Mandalore would like to drop this matter.”

Kriffing _what-_ That wasn’t an answer, it was confirmation she knew more than she was letting on and for whatever reason, even if it was just _karking stubbornness_ she wasn’t going to tell them. Siths’ hells and he could already hear Master Koon saying they had to respect her wishes and no longer had the authority to investigate. 

“Duchess, with all due respect, you called us here recognizing the threat of weapons smuggling extends beyond Mandalore’s involvement in the galaxy and compromises your _neutrality-_ it makes you complicit.”

“I understand your concern, but I no longer authorize your investigation on Mandalore. I would not hinder you if you found proof on another planet, or in another system, but so long as Mandalore is the only planet of interest, I am choosing to drop the matter.” She emphasized _choosing_ like it was really a necessity. She knew the risks, she didn’t care. She was choosing to be complicit, and it made Anakin furious. Whatever happened to helping in any way possible?

But as much as we wanted to keep arguing, he knew he couldn’t because the Republic was no longer welcome. 

It couldn’t sit right with him, even hours later as they were leaping back into hyperspace to make the run back to Coruscant. It couldn’t sit right because he knew she was hiding something, and had to sit back and do nothing. Just like Ryloth. And he was tired of inaction, tired of ignorance used as an excuse. 

But more than that he was tired and angry because he had been so close, and he was haunted by that sight. That ship’s symbol burned behind his eyes whenever he closed them. In every blink there was that orange flame, the sharp point of the beak against the worn hull of the ship. And then the way the ship opened up, the expanse of sky and the cut figure of a pirate, He didn’t have a name, and the appearance was a vague collection of glimpses, a blur more than a memory. But he knew he had to find that man again, and all he had to go off of was the shine of copper hair and burn of a stormy blue gaze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the main man himself is in the next chapter and if he’s not you can all collectively kill me


	4. Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Vanqor info was pulled out of my ass because I’m lazy and I don’t know what happens at a listening post

He was on Ryloth. It was during the siege, but he wasn’t leading the 501st like he had been then. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he  _ knew _ it was that same moment in time- he should have still been above the planet, on their way to taking out the cannons. But not only was he planetside already, but he was in Lessu, sitting among the Twi’lek Resistance. There was a little girl sitting a ways over, and he felt like he knew her but did not know her name, but he  _ should _ have. He found he couldn’t control his body, it stood up of its own accord. He saw Cham Syndulla and felt the urge to apologize for not being able to check in, but he couldn’t control his words either. 

Another voice spoke- was it his own? He couldn’t tell. It was a little muffled, and a little slurred, like things often were in dreams. “I will take my men and press into the palace to deal with Tambor.”

Syndulla shook his head, “I cannot ask you to do that-'' everything blurred for a moment, shaky and staticky, then clicked back into focus, like he’d forgotten a detail - or worse, like he was keeping it hidden and didn’t want to remember. Syndulla was still speaking, “Your supplies have been vital, but you cannot fight our battle for us.”

The voice spoke again. He was hanging on to every word, trying to place it, but it felt slippery in his head “I don’t do this for you.”

His body was moving again - could he call it  _ his _ body? Who was this - leaving Syndulla and the Resistance base. The world opened up to the sight of Lessu in chains, segments of the city destroyed. There was a cloud of death hanging about it, he felt a surge of anger and disgust. 

It stopped being linear, every blink and he was moving further from the compound and closer to the palace. There was a blaster in his hands and the distant thought in his head of ” _ so uncivilized” _ but he didn’t know where it came from. He knew there were men following him, but when he tried to look at them they dashed out of sight, like he wasn’t allowed to see. One step and he was in the streets, another and he was on the palace bridge, another and he was inside. It was like his mind was rushing to get to the point and didn’t care to show each droid he shot down.

Everything was sped up, unreal, a blur of a battle that only slowed down when he faced the Separatist himself: Wat Tambor. His brain knew he should be dead. But the coward was alive. One blaster shot disarmed him, but then he threw his gun to the ground too. Why would he do that? He felt this itch to do more, and his hand grabbed the weapon at his side. He wanted to look at his hands, wanted to know what he was holding, but he couldn’t move his head. Whatever it was, it had Tambor freaked. He started rattling off excuses, promises to let the planet go. It was a surrender. 

“You know who I am, so why are you begging?” There was a sadistic lilt to the voice, his hand lifted, he could see a glint of gold and then the bright buzz of a lightsaber igniting. It glowed blue, he could feel the energy of it through his whole body, and heard it make a clean, staticky swoop through the air when he spun it at his side. But it wasn’t like the Jedi sabers. The blade was exactly the same, but the hilt was  _ gaudy _ in comparison: gold and fashioned like some primitive weapon, fine metal work rounding it out and making it gleam like a miniature star. It was elegant,  _ beautiful  _ even. 

He wanted to keep looking at it, but his body -  _ the  _ body, because he knew it wasn’t  _ his _ \- was moving again. He could feel the furrow between the brows, and the lightsaber made another intimidating twirl. 

“Please, I’ll let them go- Don’t kill me, I’ll-“

He didn’t wait to hear more. The final buzz of the blade sounded as it cut through Tambor’s body. It was the cut he knew, exactly the same. It severed him in half with no room for error. But now he saw the body slump and heard the hiss of charred clothes and skin, sensations he hadn’t experienced from just seeing him strung up. The light clicked off and he knew his hands were empty again. 

Then everything blurred  _ again _ , but he knew generally what had to happen. Somehow Tambor was moved down to the front of the palace, and displayed at the end of the bridge. When time resumed its normal pace, that was the sight he was met with. It was eerily the same, but he knew  _ his _ body wasn’t. He still hadn’t arrived yet. How long before he would show up? Would he see himself in this vision? Would he hear Rex warning him about what he was going to see, would he see himself dismount from the speeded and just star dumbly before comming the General? 

“We’ll tell Syndulla it’s taken care of, Tambor is dead-“

“Check in with the rest of the Resistance. We came to deliver supplies, see what else they need. Even with Tambor dead it might be a while before they get aid from the Republic.”

“Yes sir,” He was finally allowed to look at the person he was talking to, but it was confusing. Maybe his mind was just making it up, trying to figure out who he’d be reporting to and relying on like this. Rex was  _ his _ go to, but this wasn’t Rex, it was some other clone. He was in the usual GAR-issued beskar armor, but it was painted with yellow, not blue. He should know his name, it was on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn’t find it. 

The both of them started crossing the bridge, heading back to the Resistance camp. There was a beep, then the clone’s voice answering a transmission. 

“A GAR squadron is headed this way. We have to leave now.”

He wanted to argue, what about taking care of the Twi’leks- but there was some greater urgency and muttered frustration. “Tell everyone to get back to the ship. It won’t help anyone if the Republic finds us.”

“Do you think Syndulla will tell them?”

“No. It won’t matter what they’ve been through, the lives lost and how many were going to be enslaved: the Republic will pull back all aid out of distrust if their Senator thinks they’re consorting with pirates.”

He had this weird feeling, like he was on the brink of something, and his head jerked toward the city. 

There was that beep again, “We have to hurry, Kenobi. GAR is moving fast to get here. Wa-“ names cut out again, like he wasn’t allowed to hear the unfamiliar, which didn’t make sense because he did hear Kenobi.  _ Kenobi _ . Is that who he was? “- reported that it’s a new battalion. Boys in blue, with a commander we’ve never seen before.”

“Well let’s not sit here and throw a welcome party then.” The urgent feeling was still there. He knew he should be arriving soon, within a few standard minutes. It was a mixed feeling, like Kenobi wanted to wait for him but couldn’t. He stopped looking at the city- no,  _ Kenobi _ stopped looking. There was a swirling, pulling feeling. He wasn’t allowed to experience the walk back to their ship, he wasn’t allowed to see it, but he felt the jolt of the ship taking off. He woke up with a falling feeling, like the take off had pulled him into hyperdrive then left him there. 

Anakin’s heart was beating too fast. He blinked away the sight of Ryloth’s destroyed skyline and it was replaced with the bland walls of his near-empty apartment. He was on Coruscant. He was in his bed. But his brain could fill in what would have happened next: He would have arrived in Lessu, he would have seen Tambor’s body. 

It didn’t matter that it was a dream. It felt right. He had one of those instinctual feelings again. Kenobi. 

That’s who he was looking for. 

-

“Do you remember when you came into my office looking for the Chancellor-“

“Kriff- don’t remind me, I was  _ mortified _ , but he wasn’t the Chancellor then.”

“Mortified? Really? It was a little endearing-“

“Padmé, I basically accused him of treason and we agreed to  _ never talk about it again _ ”

His pointed look stirred up laughter. Bail Organa was smiling into his drink, and Padmé was laughing clear and bright. 

“I know Ani, but you were so worried-“

“It’s alright my dear boy, I’ll let the matter slide.” The Chancellor - formerly Senator Palapatine - looked like he’d bitten into rotten fruit when he smiled, but his light tone was genuine. Anakin was shaking his head. He wasn’t really mad, and the cheery spirits of Padmé’s party kept him from caring too much about anything. They were collected in her Senatorial apartment, many of her political allies, a number of Core socialites, and Anakin. It was a pleasant celebration, in honor of the Chancellor’s recent appointment. Padmé hoped it spelled out a change in times, a sign of peace and the end of the war to come, and thus, she threw a party. 

“Wait-“ he backtracked, “endearing? What about that was  _ endearing?!” _

“You were so nervous!” She crooned, a light reassuring hand on his arm and more light laughter from her guests. It was all fine  _ now _ , which is why she’d mentioned it, the joke that years ago, when Anakin was sixteen and only a commander, he’d tried to uncover a conspiracy against the Jedi led by Palapatine. And now that same former Senator was the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and one of Anakin’s closest friends- it was funny and ridiculous in hindsight. 

“It was sweet,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “and then you had to rush off on some mission, red faced and so upset you didn’t get to explain yourself.”

“Well we all know Anakin, so duty bound… What is that they’ve taken to calling him on the holonets? The Hero With No Fear?” The Chancellor was always so liberal with his praise. It stirred more laughter, a few cheers and raising of flutes in celebration. Anakin  _ almost _ wished it made him blush, made him feel humility or something near it but he basked in the attention, a brilliant shining light at the center of the little soirée. 

Anakin had never expected to feel at home among politicians- and well it wasn’t  _ home  _ exactly but it was welcoming and comforting and easy, and even that was more than he could ask for. Palpatine was a friend, and he was less close with but still amiable towards Bail and many others, and Padmé- Well she was  _ Padmé _ . She was an angel and he loved her. He both was and wasn’t  _ in love _ with her though; he was in the sense that he would give up everything for her and trusted her completely and she was the first person he’d kissed and been allowed to love. But he wasn’t  _ in love  _ because it was this mutual unspoken thing that despite the depths to their shared passion, it wasn’t like  _ that _ . Sure, they’d mess around and relieve some tension and if Anakin was honest - she got much more out of it than he did - and yes, he couldn’t imagine a future without her and all that is typically associated with  _ being in love,  _ but she wasn’t his partner, his wife. A companion, yes; a confidant, a friend, a lover, all those things  _ yes _ ; and she was the woman he loved, but not in the way they both knew they would search for and hopefully find in other people as well. 

After the mortifying, baffling event in her office years before, which she had so kindly and casually brought up to her party, they became fast friends. When he returned from Mandalore, he’d had time to collect his thoughts and try to explain and apologize. She found the whole thing amusing and didn’t hold it against him at all, then she asked if he was good with fixing things (which she already knew from asking around that he was quite good at) and if he could take a look at her old protocol droid, which had unfortunately been damaged in an attempt on her life when she was Queen. By the time C3PO was fixed, they’d talked all about their home planets. He found out just how much she loved her people, and how much she missed her family, and she found out he’d been a slave (though he avoided saying it explicitly) and had a kind mother who he missed still.

Anakin had never really had a friend before, and Padmé didn’t meet many people outside of diplomatic circles, so it was refreshing for both of them. There were things they avoided talking about, certainly, but for the most part they’d spent three years of companionship in bliss. 

Anakin flashed a signature grin over his own cup, casting his gaze around the party. His hand stopped, freezing his drink just in front of his lips. A cold feeling ran through him but he did not shiver, just felt a pull in his gut. At his side, Padmé’s mouth moved but he did not hear her words, eyes fixed and searching through the crowd. He saw a swish of fabric, but of earthy linens and leather, and not the elaborate silks the guests of the party wore. 

“Excuse me-“ he was pushing up from the couch, ignoring the hand on his arm, Padmé still speaking, not hearing anything. It was like a ringing in his ears, tunnel vision, a determination to follow that sight. He navigated through guests, setting his drink down somewhere, he didn’t know where. It was like everyone around him was moving, dancing, laughing and talking and reaching out with friendly gestures and grasping hands and he was wading through it all, the balcony was the shining light he followed. There was no way, but he  _ swore  _ it had been  _ him _ and he had to see- another glimpse, the shadow of copper hair and a cloak moving just out of view and Anakin chased it. His apologies grew louder, begging people to move until he just forced his way through. He broke into the light and crisp air of the balcony, whirled around but all signs of him were gone. He felt a hand on his arm, jolted hopefully, but looking to see it was only Padmé,

“Ani, is something wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, nothing ever was. He just felt like he was losing his kriffing mind. For three years he’d obsessed over a glimpse, a phantom of a person. He always felt like he was seeing shadows, he saw those eyes, a cruel gaze, his stance as the ship pulled away. He was haunted by it still and saw the blurs of it in every party, every crowd, every mission and every moment since. 

He couldn’t forget what he’d seen on Mandalore. Pirates. And he  _ never _ would have connected the dots to Ryloth if his dreams hadn’t done it for him. But who could he tell? It wasn’t like the Senate or Council would listen to him if he was rambling about a pirate he’d caught a glimpse of on Mandalore as connected to the death of Wat Tambor on Ryloth because he  _ dreamt  _ it. And especially not now, when it had been three standard years since those events. They were long buried by everything else that had happened since. The galaxy was at war, and there was no time to mull over such trivialities. But Anakin couldn’t let them go. Couldn’t get this man out of his head. Kenobi. 

“No, everything’s alright. Just thought I saw something.” He smiled.

-

Anakin was walking with Mace Windu down to the GAR hangar. His stays on Coruscant were always short. He could have lived in a Republic provided place, with the other non-Jedi high command. He even could have bunked with the 501st. Padmé has extended her room (and her bed) to him, so he didn’t have to figure out where to sleep for his brief visits on the city planet. But he’d wanted to have his own place, and couldn’t explain why. Even though the small apartment was nearly empty, except the droid parts and a cheap bed, it was his own. But he knew he would always get called away, and was too excited to get in the middle of a conflict that he didn’t even care. He didn’t care that he’d been called away from getting another restful sleep to report to base. 

“You are being called to investigate a Separatist listening post on Vanqor.”

“A listening post- Is that really necessary? I thought we were already operating with the knowledge that we intercept some of their info, and they get some of ours- it’s not a great situation but we’re already working with it.”

“The Senate is getting worried about the security of the Outer Rim. Those systems get hit hardest, and have a history of feeling unrepresented and unprotected by the Republic.” Of course  _ Anakin _ knew that, it’s exactly what he’d felt as a child. “Eliminating the post is the best way to give us opportunities to protect the Outer systems without Separatist forces blocking us at every move. You’ll be going with Master Plo and Captain Rex, as well as a few of your command. Skywalker, the Council cannot emphasize enough how crucial this mission is.”

Yeah, yeah, he knew very well  _ the Council and Senate are relying on your success, don’t kriff this up _ . 

Anakin’s relationship with High General Windu was of the tense variety that could only be borne under the very specific circumstances they were in. Anakin respected the Jedi Master, but he didn’t agree with him a lot, and found his personality to be abrasive and misleading. Padmé had once teased that maybe they only butted heads because they were so similar. And despite Mace’s hesitations to trust someone outside the Order, Anakin was a skilled general and quite popular with the Senate. He was the highest ranking non-Jedi officer in the GAR, the clones loved him, the Chancellor loved him, and given the increased publicity on holonets, half the Republic loved him too. Anakin just respected the other man, that was really the extent of it, but there were the times he was peeved by dodgy, leading questions about why Anakin did what he did. Anakin had always been the type to act on instinct and trust himself, not out of ego (well not  _ entirely _ out of ego) but out of a genuine faith in his gut that generally proved right. Call it luck. Whatever it was, the Jedi was always asking about it. Three years under his command and now Anakin would just lamely recount whatever bad feelings plagued him in his missions without a care, not bothering to try and suss out what Windu, or Plo or even Yoda thought about it. 

“Copy that, sir. I’ll report to the 501st and make ready to leave.”

“May the Force be with you.”

They always told him that. At first it threw him, because he thought Jedi only said it to one another. At this point he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t very well object to it. He just considered it their more cryptic, pretentious way of saying  _ good luck. _

Anakin did as he promised and went down to the hangar. There was no reason to take a whole star destroyer, but he looked at the  _ Resolute _ itching for a chance to see some real action again. “General, good to see you again.”

“You too, Rex,” Seeing his ship was nothing compared to seeing the clone captain. He might have spent a lot of time slumming it with politicians and even the great Supreme Chancellor these days, but there was no shaking his men. He’d never forget the first time they called him Vod, after a particularly rough mission where he’d almost lost Fives, and many of the men had been hurt. But Anakin wouldn’t leave them behind, and Rex said he cared in a way most  _ aruetii _ did not. And yeah, Anakin didn’t feel like an  _ aruetti,  _ an outsider, when he was with them, and they didn’t feel like just a soldier number with him. 

“We’re taking off to Vanqor, to the Sep listening post. Is there a ship and a group of men ready?”

“Yes sir, Fives and Echo have received orders to gear up and the other General and Commander are preparing a transport ship.”

He knew the other General referred to Plo Koon - even though there was no reason to keep them together now that Anakin was a general himself, the Council often wanted a Jedi for missions and they already worked so well together. It wasn’t a problem, but he knew the Jedi preferred to be with his own men and Wolffe at his side. But a Commander? He knew that same clone couldn’t have been asked on this mission, not when Anakin was bringing his own men. “He has Wolffe with him?” 

Rex didn’t look comfortable with the question, “I thought you knew, sir. The General has been assigned a shiny- no, wait, a  _ padawan _ , sir. She’ll be a Jedi Commander with the 104th, General Koon’s battalion.”

Anakin knew enough about the Order to know it shouldn’t have been surprising for Master Koon to be assigned a padawan learner, he was a talented and respected Jedi after all. Anakin just supposed he had never thought about it before, that it would mean  _ he _ would be working with a padawan, a  _ child _ , in the middle of this war. 

“Is she-“ He didn’t know how to ask the questions he wanted to. What was she like, did she know how to lead the men, how would she handle their deaths, leaving them behind, how was her flying, her leadership skills? He’d never been great with his words, and they failed him even more now, at voicing such complicated concerns for someone he didn’t even know. “Do you know how the General feels about it?”

But Rex knew him better than that, and gave a comforting answer, “She and the General are close. He’s the one that found her and brought her to the Temple in the first place. If they weren’t Jedi, I’d say she’s like his daughter.” There was a look, a tight smile shared at the expense of the Order’s famous Code against attachment. “And she’s quite a fighter already. I think you’ll like her.” The question was really whether Anakin would admit to liking her. 

Anakin rolled his eyes, already doubtful. “Come on then, I’ll see what they’re up to. Comm the men and we can get into space soon.” He was always one for impatience and efficiency, wanting to get missions over with before they’d even begun. 

Rex pointed him to a  _ Sentinel _ -class shuttle and went off to round up his men. Anakin found the Jedi General hunched over a holotable with a young Togruta standing at his side. So this was the Padawan then. 

The Jedi looked up. Anakin knew he was smiling. It had taken him a while, but he could read him pretty accurately now. “Skywalker, it’s good to see you. This is-“

“ _ This _ is Skyguy?”

Plo Koon faltered, and Anakin wondered what kind of subtle look passed under that mask. “My padawan, Ahsoka Tano. She will be joining us on this mission, and any other that we are assigned together. I’m afraid many of the younger Jedi are aware of your success from the holos; forgive me if she’s star struck.”

Ahsoka scoffed, “I’m not star struck, Master. I just thought the Hero with No Fear would be a little more impressive.” 

_ Oh no _ , he wasn’t going to be snipped at by some kid- and Rex thought he was going to  _ like  _ her? Anakin forced a smile onto his face, going for something dismissive and condescending. He’d spent enough time around politicians that he’d learned all the tricks of the diplomatic trade: how to smile like you weren’t bothered by something and keep your voice cool and unaffected. Usually his hot head still got the better of him, but he had his pride too and that wasn’t going to be squashed by some bright-eyed Commander who didn’t know a real fight from a simulation. 

“It’s alright General, I’ll make sure not to get too distracted by her little crush.”

Ahsoka frowned with complete disgust on her face and opened her mouth but Plo Koon’s dampened voice cut her off. 

“You’ll be taking the lead on this, General. You and the men should be able to handle everything, but Ahsoka and I will be there if anything goes wrong. I’m sure the Council informed you this is largely an investigative mission, and it would be unwise to attack until we know the scope of Separatist forces at the listening post.”

Their main goal was to check out the base and dismantle it if possible. Given Anakin’s history with destroying things and blowing Separatist plans sky high, there was no reason to assume he couldn’t deliver on a small post in the Outer Rim, even without the whole 501st. 

In theory, it should be an easy in and out mission. Anakin knew better than to think it would  _ actually _ go so well, but it still begged the question why even send Plo and his padawan? 

He stared at the holotable, the not-particularly-substantial information they had about Vanqor and it’s listening post- and he noticed that one holopad wasn’t about the mission, but it was about Dooku. 

His commlink blinked, “Rex’ll be on board now.”

“We take off at your command, Skywalker.”

-

“I know it’s a beautiful planet, Snips, but you can’t just stand there gawking.”

“I’m not-  _ Snips?!  _ Master, he can’t just call me that!”

“Unfortunately, padawan, General Skywalker can do whatever he pleases.” 

They’d just left the ship, landed on Vanqor and Ahsoka was staring at the planet with an unimpressed frown when Anakin urged her to get moving. But even Plo sounded a little amused and he took complete pleasure in that as he walked further out. The planet was a swirling, hazy mess and held promises of gundarks and a Separatist base. How promising. 

“Rex let me look at that initial scan again.” For obvious reasons they couldn’t land near the base, but with Vanqor’s surface is was difficult to get a good landing and find a way over. “I think our best bet will be to go through the caves-“

“ _ What- _ “

“Ahsoka, please.” The Jedi master made a motion for Anakin to continue. 

The caves were to be avoided at all costs, they were known to be confusing and house gundarks, so Ahsoka’s opposition wasn’t misplaced. He cringed, “It’s our best way to get through undetected. There’s no surface cover and even with the scan we don’t know what we’re getting into. Besides, I think two Jedi can handle a gundark, don’t you Snips?”

-

Their first trek through the cave was slow as all kriffing hell. So long as they weren’t in danger, they had the luxury of taking their time. Rex and Plo Koon were making sure to map their path, with the help of both Fives and Echo. Despite the fact that it was  _ his _ plan to go this way, it was Anakin - with Ahsoka pulling up in a very close second - who was the most impatient. Every time they came up on some big crystal structure in the way, or thought a gundark might be following them, he wanted to just start blasting and get a move on. 

But it got them through to the listening post without issues and no run-ins with the native fauna. 

When they got there, the post was strangely empty, but Anakin still had a feeling they were not alone. The issue was not whether they could or couldn’t blow up the listening post- amazingly that was the easy part. The  _ problem  _ was that blowing up the post would instantly draw out any and  _ all _ Separatists and so once it was done, they had to get back to the ship ASAP. It was just their luck that blaring alarms didn’t start until the receiver had been reduced to smoldering durasteel. The two Jedi were left to wait by the caves while Anakin and the clones went ahead to the base. But with the alarms a ship lifted from the base and Anakin heard the familiar sliding open of hangar doors, followed by the rolling of droidekas. Great. 

“Skyguy we need an update-“

“Not now Snips!” There was a wave of battle droids and Anakin fired two down. His comm beeped again. “I said-“

“Skywalker, what is your position?” It wasn’t Ahsoka’s voice, but Plo Koon’s. Anakin swore and fired again. He and the clones were stuck outside the hangar. They couldn’t get back to the caves without exposing themselves to droid fire and he didn’t want to risk anyone. But the rest of the base could blow any minute, from their own well placed work or from the self destruct defenses almost every Separatist facility had built in- so their time frame was guess work at best. 

“We’re under droid fire outside and can’t leave without taking the risk exposing ourselves. The base is taken care of. Need you to get back to the ship, send word base is destroyed.”

“Sir,” Fives peeked up from behind a cargo box. “If we fire at that ship we might be able to give enough cover to retreat.” The clone gave a two finger salute to a freighter left empty on the deck. Anakin hadn’t even thought to notice it. 

“Fives, you’re a genius,” he grinned and made a motion to open fire. It took three good blasts and the ship exploded, separating them from the droids for just long enough that the four of them could haul ass. 

The Jedi were already gone from the cave entrance, and Anakin was reassured they’d gone back to the ship like he instructed. “This cover won’t hold long,” he pointed for Rex to lead the way. He needed to contact Plo again-

“General, this is Skywalker- I need an update.”

“This is Ahsoka. Master is sending word to Council that the base is blown up.”

“Hold position, we're coming to you.”

“What about the droids?”

“We’ve gotten to the caves, let us worry about the rest.” He didn’t give an official sign off, just beeped the transmission and didn’t want to hear an answer. He wasn’t going to have some kid calling him reckless again. 

Anakin stood at the mouth of the cave. With the smoke from the blown up base and the ship, visibility was poor. But he could see the outline of the base, with the sky behind it. And he could see a ship flying in, docking near the hangar, right in the middle of the mess. Kriff. 

He couldn’t see whether they were being followed or not. Looking back into the cave, Fives and Echo were following Rex, but Fives held up. 

“General, I’ve got your six,”

He waved a hand, “No trooper, I’ll make sure we don’t have droids on us. I won’t lose any of you, especially not on a mission like this.” Preferably he wouldn’t lose any of them  _ ever _ , but he knew better than to argue over the details of the clones’ honor-bound self-sacrificing inclinations. He neglected to mention the ship. He couldn’t see anything, didn’t know if it was marked friend or foe. Likely Separatists who had pinged some distress signal from their own destroyed base. 

“I’m just a clone, sir,” he obviously couldn’t see Fives’ face, but he was sure a self-deprecating smile was under there. “That’s what I’m meant to do.”

“You’re meant to follow orders, Fives. Follow Captain back to the ship. This is my mission,” so if anyone was going to get shot by a droid, it was him. 

He didn’t like to repeat that old dogma, the whole “good clones follow orders” thing that was just a way of reducing the men into numbers and soldiers. So when he did say it, it wasn’t to establish their subservience to him, but his loyalty to them. His orders weren’t  _ follow Rex _ , but  _ let me do this _ ,  _ let  _ me _ have  _ your  _ back.  _ And he knew without another shared word or expression that Fives understood. 

When he looked back out the cave again, he dreaded the sight: a tight droid squadron trooping up the incline in their direction. The cave system was complicated enough that they could lose them inside, but the noise would draw out gundarks, and they didn’t have much time. 

Anakin clicked into an open comm with both Rex and Plo Koon, “We’ve got clankers hot on us, I have to seal off this entrance.”

There was a faint noise from Ahsoka, probably listening in with her Master. Anakin didn’t care, and started backing up, figuring out the best place to blast to get the entrance to close off. 

“General, I’m near the entrance, if you’re following close behind we’ll be back on the ship before they catch us.”

“No good Captain. Closing off is the only way.”

“Skywalker,” it was the Jedi Master, and not his padawan who could still be heard grumbling faintly, “Blasting the entrance could cause a collapse. I cannot advise this course of action.”

“With all due respect, I’m not asking permission. Either I close off the cave or it gets filled with droids, which will draw out the gundarks and endanger all of us.” He didn’t want to mention the ship. He had a bad feeling, and didn’t want to pass it on to the others, he didn’t want them to know the danger was probably greater than it seemed. 

“ _ Sky-“ _

He didn’t cut off transmission, but he didn’t hear the rest as he fired up into the crystals around him. There was a sickening crack, it rumbled and Anakin could feel it beneath his feet right before rocks started falling. He stumbled back, fired again for good measure and was rewarded with a chasm in the cave ceiling. Everything started slanting and he was plunged into darkness. The ground was shifting. The quake of a boulder landing made him stagger to his knees- 

Staticky, hard to hear, his ears were ringing  _ “Come in _ -“ 

Anakin tried to feel around him, but the ground he thought was behind him wasn’t there, then there was nothing and he felt the thud of his body landing. His ribs ached. Had he fallen? How far? Was there a ledge behind him? He could barely hear his own coughs, wheezing breath, an urgent but distant “ _ Sky[...] This is- Co- …”  _ the comm chirped, again and again “ _ What happened-“ _

It was like he was swimming- was he moving? There was no light- wait there was light, just a beam of it from way above him, it grew brighter. 

Was this what all this light at the end of a tunnel shit meant?- Was he dead- No, he could see and there were rocks moving,  _ oh _ someone was trying to tunnel through the destroyed cave entrance. Since when were droids  _ that _ determined?

He went from not being able to see because it was too dark to not being able to see because it was too bright. 

There was a voice, he could hear it a little better- someone was there, approaching him, not talking over the stupid commlink. “Over here Captain!”

He knew that voice, a clone voice. Was this Echo or Fives? He tried to ask, and he’d said captain, “Rex?” He felt how rough his voice was in his throat, still struggling to hear. Why wouldn’t his ears stop ringing? And if everything wasn’t so bright he could see the clone, and wouldn’t have to guess. 

Then there was someone else, and the two of them together leaning over Anakin helped block out the light, but his vision was swimming with dots. 

“Be still,” the other person hissed - why did he know  _ that _ voice. A Coruscanti accent- It rang and rattled around in his brain, trying to spark a memory. Anakin tried blinking to clear his vision. The clone wore a helmet, and he was half blinded again by light bouncing off white stripes. He tried looking at the other body. The face was half obscured with dark cloth in the same way people had always done on Tatooine to keep dust out of their nose and mouth. There wasn’t dust here though- or was there? Anakin suddenly wasn’t sure. If there wasn’t dust then why was he coughing. His chest hurt. 

He heard a familiar beep, the commlink on his arm was still on, “ _ General-“ _ wait, if Rex was here then who was on the comm, who was this-

“What-“ he tried to ask and the man spoke again, telling the clone to 

“Turn that thing off.”

And then the comm was unclipped and stopped beeping. He wanted to protest, but he was picked up- felt hands at his sides and everything started spinning again. 

Were they on a ship? He felt like they were moving. He finally realized where he recognized the voice. His dream. Kenobi. “Do we have something we can give him so he’ll shut up?” Was he talking?

He didn’t feel like he was given anything but it started becoming harder to keep his eyes open, and his vision was spinning in a very different way. And then there was nothing. 


	5. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long because I wrote this chapter like 4 different times and each one was completely different. Finally made a version I wanted to stick with even though I know it’s a little underwhelming but it got me in the groove for the next few chapters!

As far as myths go, he was a new one. 

He wasn’t as old as the Sith or the Jedi, but in a short time he’d gained a near equal reputation. 

Core worlds spoke of him in a hushed whisper, as they always had, too afraid to give a name to their own enemy. On Coruscant, certain Senators considered even naming him to be treason. They’d always considered pirates such a legend, a story told to kids and nothing to really fear. But he was as real as their corruption, as real as the Sith, and a threat to their lives unlike the Outer Rim thugs they were used to. 

The worst was that his motive was so unclear. They did not know what he wanted; they did not know how to buy him off or talk down the accusations he hurled, because he did not declare himself with a smoking manifesto and bravado. Instead he worked his way into their lives and politics and fears slowly, discreetly. They could not tell what he wanted so they could not stop him. 

There’s a fair amount (to understate things) of negotiation and appeasement that is crucial to politics. Take a slave planet for example. They are ignored by the galaxy so someone can profit by selling sentients as property. So then the planet is occupied, the slaves are supposedly freed, so long as they abide by the law of their new ruling body. People are still moved around like property, distributed and organized around an agenda. If they complain, some faceless authority points out how much they’ve been given, and rebellion is quashed with guilt and fear. However, the same syndicates that profited in the first place still profit, for they were not completely destroyed. They’ve been allowed to continue at reduced capacity at the New Authority’s Generosity. It’s an unsatisfying middle ground. 

The same idea is applied to near all diplomatic situations. The people are dissatisfied with an effete Senator, promised a better future and reward for their loyalty, and eventually the problem disappears. 

But you cannot wash over what refuses to make itself known. 

Even the Jedi knew fear must be named before it can be banished. And this was fear they refused to name. 

Pirates, generally, were straightforward. They wanted money, and pleasure, and freedom from law and consequences. There were so many ways this could be provided, and so many ways it _had_ been provided by the Republic and Confederacy alike.

However, it was in the Outer Rim that the legend grew, for there it was born. It was born when two Jedi died and a new man was sprang forth. He was forged by hate and shame and truth. Those who saw him and knew him noticed first his fury, his rage, then the storm of his eyes that rivaled Kamino. Even when he smiled a polished grin, there was something deeper to him. He was not like other pirates. There was a passion to him that the Republic wanted to paint as a monstrosity. He stayed so deep in the shadows but they cast him further, made his name a black mark to be forgotten, replaced by the whispers of a phantom. 

The Negotiator. 

They considered it a joke. He was no diplomat, no representative of anything other than their demise. Negotiation implied an honor that he did not show them, it implied mercy and patience. But to those he saw at fault for the destruction in the galaxy, he showed only the glow of his saber.

Still he was only a myth, the details of him unknown. If one wanted to know anything about Hondo Ohnaka, it wasn’t difficult. He loved to make himself known, if only to taunt the local authority and declare he’d never be caught. 

The Negotiator could only be seen in his wake, in charred bodies and hopeful whispers among insurgents. 

When Anakin searched for him, it was with little success because there was little to go on. His time planetside was so limited that even with his connection to so many Senators and Core elite, he heard nothing from those who actually knew anything. What help were Senators when they were the ones who refused to recognize him above all things?

Instead, if they spoke of him, it was with unhelpful idle gossip. They wanted a way to destroy him, they wanted to know who he was. If he would not make demands they could use to unfound him, then surely there was something in his past they could use. But even there he was a mystery. Anakin never told anyone about his dream. He never shared with the galaxy that the dreaded Negotiator was also known as Kenobi. If he had shared that little detail, then maybe someone would have remembered the boy, the young man, who had also once called Coruscant home. In even more unsure whispers they would say “ _Yes, that was his name, wasn’t it? He lost his Master, didn’t he? What a shame._ ” And they would drink a toast and would not care. His life was their idle gossip, their stories. But maybe said in front of the right Senator, she would gasp and ask, to make sure the name, a phantom in her memory, was just as she heard it. She would ask “ _Kenobi? Are you sure?_ ” And she would remember those same eyes that haunted Anakin, but she did not know their fury. She knew their kindness. She knew the young man who, when she was queen, saved her life but lost so much in return. But Anakin never said, so she never shared. How could either of them know that despite its vastness and diversity, their galaxy was truly very small, and their lives were inescapably linked to a select few. Asking and sharing might have connected a few dots but it would have neither sped nor prolonged the inevitable. 

Anakin Skywalker was, inevitably, tied to Kenobi. Mace Windu had been able to see only one half of those ties at a time, but knew not where they would lead. If they stood together, it would be obvious. 

Anakin, of course knowing none of this, just felt an urgency deep within him that said he had to find Kenobi. He’d felt it at first sight of lightsaber burns, and bolstered only by Mandalore. There was something there that he could not place, a slick feeling always sliding out of his grasp. Some possessive desperation that would only be satisfied by finding him. 

Amidst a war, the focus was always on Separatists, what the Republic and GAR could do to secure victory and, eventually, peace. Anakin’s efforts were unsurprisingly military oriented. He completed mission after mission as High Command instructed- the combined call to arms of the Jedi Council and the Republic Senate that made for very mixed interests. He didn’t care for the politics of it. He just wanted to save lives, and maybe recklessly fly around and blow up a few Sep ships while he was at it. But the obvious focus on the war meant he was surprised by the first thing the newly elected Supreme Chancellor asked of him. His friend and mentor, Chancellor Palpatine, invited him into his new Senate office and sighed “What a scourge these pirates have become.” He looked at his hand like he was inspecting it for dust, disinterested. 

Anakin thought it was a social call, but the word _pirate_ made him tense. Yes he supposed, things had gotten worse. The war allowed them a lot of leeway. Both Republic and Confederate forces were so focused on fighting one another that pirates hardly needed to sneak around. They were more brazen, sneaking some operations into the Mid Rim. The Core was still free from their presence, but Anakin had run into Hondo more times than he liked. “Yes, though thankfully they’re not interested in anything but themselves. They’re no real threat, not to the GAR.”

“Oh, of course not my boy,” Palpatine’s smile was tight, and always looked a little pitying. Only sometimes did it get on Anakin’s nerves. “But I would feel reassured if you made me a promise, as a friend.”

“Sir? I don’t follow.”

The dark of the night sky over Coruscant was lighter than the glint in the Chancellor’s eyes. Dark matter obscuring the stretch of the Republic’s territory, hiding away familiar planets from eyesight. An impenetrable cloud of black. But still, Palpatine’s eyes were a black hole in comparison. Anakin’s stomach lurched. “A promise, Anakin, unofficially, of course. I would like to rid myself and the Republic of such fears as trivial as _pirates._ It would be a weight off my shoulders if you fought for that cause, and helped rid the galaxy of them. Again, unofficially— it isn’t something I could request as Chancellor, only as a friend and concerned citizen.”

Anakin’s brow had furrowed. A kill order? Off the record— it sat wrong with him. But this was Palpatine, who he trusted explicitly. The whole galaxy trusted him. He took power so hesitantly and humbly— a proud and power hungry Senator wouldn’t have been voted to the seat of Chancellor. No, the galaxy looked to Palpatine and saw a level-headed figure who would lead them through the war, a diplomacy loving man with their best interests at heart. Was that not what he was? Anakin saw him— well he was the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had. 

Either sensing his hesitation, or still disinterested in everything, he spoke again before Anakin had the chance to answer. “No need to agree out loud,” Palpatine tapped the side of his nose in a knowing gesture. “Some things are best left unsaid, are they not? Well my boy, I wish you luck on your next mission, whatever it may be. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Shortly after that he’d gotten the call to take care of the listening post on Vanqor. 

—

Anakin’s head was splitting and everything was blurry. He kept blinking, thinking maybe it would clear up, but instead his vision just swirled white and he let his head fall back. He hurt. He hurt so kriffing much. The sense of danger that should have been overwhelming him just wouldn’t. He had a hazy idea of things. They’d blown up the post, gone into the caves, he caused the rock slide, droids were on their tail, a clone came to him, a Coruscanti accent, then he was on a ship. 

He supposed that he’d been saved, but didn’t really believe it yet. 

“Don’t try to sit up, sir.” There was someone with him? He tried opening his eyes again and got a glimpse of white and yellow beskar. Who used yellow paint— what legion was this? The voice was familiar, he knew thousands of men who sounded almost the same. Only almost the same because genetics determined one thing, but personality another. Anakin knew the difference between any of his men by voice alone because none of them were really the same. Yes they were clones, but before that they were men.

“Where am I, and what happened? What legion is this and who saved me- and where is Kenobi, or any of my men?” That’s what he tried to say, and what he wanted to ask. Too many questions jumbled up in a blunt trauma addled brain. What came out instead was a slurred “Whaaa-“ and a grunt of pain. 

“Try moving your hand, sir.” Anakin found he could do that with some precision. All limbs accounted for and he could fiddle his fingers and curl his hand into a fist. “Alright, make a fist for yes, and relax your hand for no. Can you hear me fine?”

A fist. Anakin could also precisely hear an intake of breath, like this was a relief. 

“Do you remember your name?” Fist. “Do you remember why you were on Vanqor?” Another one. “Do you know where you are?” His hand fell flat. He might have had some guesses, some theories about being kidnapped by pirates or Separatists, but this was a clone talking to him, so was he saved by the GAR? No, he didn’t know where he was. No clue at all. 

“We don’t have any med supplies on board, but I could sedate you-“ Hand flat urgently, he smacked against the bunk he was laying on “Yes sir, understood. I’ll get you a drink. Just breathe, don’t try and sit up again.”

Anakin wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, not with everything swimming around him. Yes, when he’d slammed his hand down this was a bunk. Not a med bay, and no proper rescue ship would be so undersupplied. But he wasn’t just sat on some floor, it was still a bunk- so maybe a transport ship? The longer he laid there, the better he felt. Not so much better, he was aching and his head felt full but his vision was clearing and some senses fizzling back. And some memories too- namely that this wasn’t all effects of blowing in the cave but— they’d drugged him! _Do we have something to give him so he’ll shut up?_ And his anger did the rest, fueled him so he could feel his hands and feet and it didn’t matter if he was hurting because he had motivation now. 

Kenobi. 

All the swimming and shaking stopped as soon as he leveled his feet. He was grounded, even if he leaned on the wall for support. His hand held his side as he took a few shuddering breaths, then evened out. His side- he didn’t have a blaster. He wasn’t a complete idiot though- there was a blade in his boot. It was not a trick he’d learned from the GAR, but an old habit carried over from Tatooine, one of many that he’d never forget. 

Anakin stumbled into the hall of the ship. It was empty and it’s model unrecognizable. But it couldn’t be too large— he wandered, always using the wall for support. He could feel the hum of its journey through space and could convince himself they weren’t at light speed. Which meant either he’d been out long enough that they’d already made a jump and he was stuck who knows where, or they were still in the Vanqor system. Or they’d gotten to the Sertar sector, which filled him with dread. 

It wasn’t difficult to navigate. He couldn’t hear or see anyone else- it made him wonder if the ship had anyone other than him, the clone, and Kenobi. Unless Kenobi wasn’t onboard anymore. Anakin moved faster, needing answers. 

His life really was one great, ridiculous holo drama sometimes. That was certainly how he felt when he reached a door, punched the button for it to slide open, and he realized he’d reached the cockpit. 

The thick metal doors open with a hiss, and he was standing a little bent sideways in pain, and greeted with the sight of space glimmering out the transparisteel. Each button and switch on the dash blinked with lights that said all was well. Outside the viewport was a planet, and some part of his memory that carried about things registered it as Florrum, but that thought hadn’t quite caught up with him yet. He would have taken in how impressive this peculiar ship was, and how it seemed to revolve around efficiency than style. He would even have noticed how empty the place was, and that it accommodated running with a small or even solo crew. He would have noticed all those things, but his eyes were caught absolutely on the two figures in the middle. One was the clone, standing shorter than the other; he’d taken off the beskar chest plate, leaving him in his blacks while his legs were still armored. Dinges, scrapes, and yellow paint decorated his lower half, but with the helmet off Anakin could clearly say he’d never seen him. Short hair, not dyed, and a curved scar along his temple. He’d definitely never met this clone before. 

But the other man- well those glimpses hardly counted as a formal meeting. The hum of the ship could be heard a little clearer and it set Anakin on edge. The gentle electric buzz made his mind snap with fear- filling in visions of the killing arc of the blue lightsaber he’d seen in his dreams. But there wasn’t any threat, which was worse. If the doors had parted with blaster fire and a swinging blade, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Instead he turned to Anakin with a certain resigned displeasure on his face. In his head, everything clicked. The voice, the eyes from Mandalore, the hair he thought he saw at Padmé’s party, the same robes, the same body he’d felt in his dream. All of it. 

Like he knew Anakin’s fear, like he knew his freed prisoner wasn’t about to just start blasting, his face softened with amusement. Though half hidden in a beard, the grin was undeniably charming. His gaze made Anakin feel stripped bare. 

“Hello there.”

In his dream the voice had come across slightly muffled, and his ears had been ringing so much on Vanqor that he didn’t process anything. But now that voice carried crisp and clear, sounding all too friendly and knowing. 

“You-“ Anakin didn’t even know where to begin with his accusations. Ryloth, Mandalore, but this was a _pirate_ . He’d never forgotten the stories he grew up on. He hadn’t forgotten how he once hinged his whole idea of freedom on pirates and adventures plundering galactic gangs and stealing from rich, corrupt Senators. But he wasn’t a child on some backwater planet anymore. He was a General for the Grand Army of the Republic, the Hero with No Fear. He was Anakin kriffing Skywalker and _this_ was the pirate he’d been trying to find proof of for _three karking years_. 

“So you know who I am?” The voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Anakin frowned. 

“I expected someone of your reputation to be taller.”

Somehow he looked entertained by that, and raised an eyebrow as if to say _Is that all?_ Anakin didn’t continue and the man rolled his eyes. “And I saved your life, you ought to be a little more respectful, General Skywalker.”

Still neither one of them had moved. The clone looked like he didn’t want to be there, like he was intruding. 

“You’re not well enough to be wandering about my ship. Have a seat, Skywalker.” 

Wandering over to the table, leaning against it, felt like a dream. They didn’t feel like his actions, but who was he to argue. He was furious, but he could hardly stand. He hated that this pirate was right, this pirate who didn’t know a thing about him. “Where am I?”

“My ship.” That wasn’t really an answer, and they both knew it. Kenobi grinned with all his teeth and it made Anakin’s stomach swoop. The clone nodded and left. The door hissed shut behind him like a death sentence. “Any other questions?”

Many. So many. But he didn’t want to give into his smug look. Anakin was very aware of the weight in his boot, the blade pressed neatly against him, hidden away. 

“Come on now, you make me feel like a poor host.” 

“Where are we headed?” Anakin stayed at the planet out the port, arms crossed and refusing to look at the pirate. He’d spent so long imaging this moment, and really it was rather disappointing. He imagined meeting in battle, capturing him in a storm of ships and blaster fire. He almost wanted to see the burn of his lightsaber, the existence of which was still such a mystery to him. “And pretend I don’t know anything, overexplain if you have to.” 

“You just want to know how I managed to capture you- not like it was difficult considering you nearly got yourself killed blowing in that cave.” Kenobi leaned against a wall, hand propped up in a way that sent Anakin reeling back to Mandalore. He sighed like this was some tiresome exercise, “We knew your plan to blow up the post and wanted to loot the hangar; I’ve had my eye on one of their freighters for quite some time and your little demolition team was going to provide the perfect cover. Then Cody and I heard the explosion, and lucky for everyone, we found you.”

Cody, at least Anakin had a name to the face now. Maybe it was even one of the words that had come across garbled in his dream. He scoffed, “And how do _you_ have a clone?”

“I’m a pirate, Skywalker. I stole him.” Anakin hated that grin on his face- it was too happy and casual, like they were old friends. He didn’t even care whether it was true or not, because clearly he got too much satisfaction out of it regardless. 

“Right… So how is this lucky for everyone?”

“That planet is Florrum, surely you’ve heard of it?”

“Pirate capital of the galaxy, yes I know it. What does that matter?”

“We’ll be landing soon. When the post sent out it’s distress signal, it gave us a bit of intel. We have to be quick to follow it up, another mission that we don’t have the gear for right now. So, back to Florrum to restock and then on our way.”

Anakin had followed the line of thinking, and hated all the implications. Landing on the pirate base, getting their help, then what- “Wait, I’m not _helping_ you with any of this— so when we get planetside are you just gonna shackle me up until the Republic pays for my release?”

It was the first time Kenobi didn’t look smug. A flicker of confusion passed his face. “Of course not. You’ll be joining me.”

“And what in the galaxy would make me want to do that?”

Pride yet again, a powerful look that declared he held all the cards. “Count Dooku.”

His rage curled up again, a rearing ugly head that he was tired of ignoring. He was tired of half answers from everyone all the time, tired of people making assumptions and expectations. Even Palpatine did it, assumed killing pirates without a thought was something he wanted. They thought of him only as a title, a hero or whatever other sithspit they’d gotten into their heads— Hero With No Fear, a ruthless General who brought victory where he went. 

In a second he was standing up like his body didn’t ache and cry out. The blade was in his hand and pressed to Kenobi’s throat. It was the same sure grip he’d used as a kid, defending himself on a desert backwater. It was that same sort of wordless, shapeless rage he felt now. The fury of a child with nothing to lose. 

“Is that what you think you can do? Swoop in and say you saved my life then demand I _help_ you? Why didn’t you just kill me, slice me down like you do with everything else that inconveniences you? Why shouldn’t I just drive this into your throat right now? Give me one reason.”

What Anakin saw now was an echo of the same look that greeted most right before Kenobi, _the Negotiator_ , slashed through them. It was not exactly the same, it did not have a glint to his eye that promised unapologetic murder- in it Anakin saw a future and possibility, equally destructive, but full of nameless passion. It did not make him falter his grip. If anything, it made him want to press deeper and draw blood from Kenobi’s pale throat. Kenobi who did not flinch, whose breath did not hitch, who hardly reacted. Really, he looked more relaxed now- as though he appreciated how this leveled things between them. Anakin felt watched under that raw, lidded gaze. He stared back with his own hard look, while their air mingled together. He could feel long-since dried sweat on his skin, and a weakness from hours without food or drink. Yeah, that’s the only thing that could have made him feel weak, not anything else. 

When Kenobi spoke again, Anakin could feel the pitch of his voice, the low smoothness to it from where the back of his fingers rested on his neck. “By all means, kill me, Skywalker. If I wanted you dead then I wouldn’t have saved you. _By all means_ , go ahead and think this is just about the two of us. Make this about your determination to find me, and your disappointment now that you have. But there’s much more at stake here, dear Skywalker. We all have our roles to play, so let’s both perform ours. You play the hero and help me find Dooku then go back to Coruscant as the hero. Take the fame, the reward, and end the war.”

End the war. Of all the things Kenobi could have said, he didn’t expect that. Could they possibly want the same thing- peace? “And what will keep you from killing me once you’ve gotten what you’ve wanted?”

“By the time that’s done, well who’s to say we won’t be friends by then?” 

Anakin scoffed, pulled back like he was disgusted, and had to hope the pirate didn’t know how much he was overcompensating. “So what’s the plan then?”

Kenobi grinned. He knew how he’d sunken his claws in, and now Anakin was his. There was no getting out of this. Working with a pirate. Fantastic. 


	6. The Hunt for Dooku

As the ship autopiloted toward Florrum, Kenobi sat down and explained everything. There were fewer barbs when he talked business. It reassured Anakin because it made the details easy to follow, and there were _a lot_ of details. Not to the plan, that was simple, but the lead up to the plan, how they even _got_ this intel, well Kenobi laid it all out plainly. It was easy to follow but no less overwhelming. When the ship flashed that they were entering the atmosphere, Cody returned, bringing much-needed water for Anakin and piloting them down to the base. 

When the post sent out it’s signal, it was picked up by every Separatist in the area and by any command ships that it tried to contact directly. Kenobi and his men, who were watching all such communications, were able to use those distress calls to ping the location of the _Invisible Hand_. They had reason to believe Dooku was aboard, and Kenobi had been trying to track him for a while. Despite his public role, the Count was a hard man to pin down. 

It was the best lead they’d had in a very long time, but they couldn’t act immediately. They had to wait and make sure there weren’t any more tricks. 

“I don’t see _why_ we can’t just go after him now.”

Kenobi sighed, sizing up Anakin’s injured form. The answer was obvious. “I’ve already said Skywalker, there is more at stake here than what either of us might want.”

Now this was the bit it was hardest for Anakin to understand: Kenobi believed Dooku had plans for a super powered weapon with unprecedented destructive force. A planet destroying monster built through the generated wealth of weapons profiteering, aided by every known specialist in the Confederacy. 

He didn’t know how a _pirate_ would know this when he - General Anakin Skywalker of the GAR - _didn’t_ , but Kenobi assured him his sources were legitimate. Republic, Separatist, neutral system or pirate, it didn’t matter- it was in everyone’s best interest that such a weapon never came to be. Anakin had to agree. 

They needed to get back to Florrum first. While they waited, Anakin would rest. They would assemble a team, not Kenobi’s entire crew, but a few of his men and some two “old friends.” Anakin got the distinct impression that relations with them were out of necessity and Kenobi was eager to part ways. What he did not make any attempts to explain at all was why it was important for Anakin to join. Why not just leave him on Florrum for ransom? Kenobi didn’t say, and it seemed an inquiry he wouldn’t even entertain. 

But he promised so earnestly that he had a trained med crew who would ensure he was fine. They’d have him fighting for again before it was time to go after Dooku. 

Anakin asked what the plan was to get aboard when the time came, and Kenobi grimaced. He got the hint that it had something to do with the two friends and that Kenobi himself thought it reckless or distasteful. For once in his life, Anakin didn’t press the matter. A hostage to an Outer Rim pirate- oh the irony of the universe. How he’d begged to be saved by pirates as a child and his wish came true. His comm was broken, his weapons taken away (Kenobi let him keep the knife to humor him more than anything)— there was no way for him to escape. He was completely at Kenobi’s mercy until he had his hands on a communicator or a ship. It wasn’t even a choice, until then he _had_ to listen. 

But he couldn’t pretend not to be troubled by the news. If Dooku was forging a weapon like Kenobi spoke of, then maybe that should be the GAR’s focus. Yeah, there was still the whole war, but if _this_ was what it was all for, generating the profit and distractions in which this weapon could be built, then _it_ should be their real target. How did the Senate not even know?! It should be _everywhere_. If some Outer Rim pirate thug knew about it, why didn’t the Chancellor?

Cody announced when they were landing, and Kenobi found something to cover his “atrocious uniform. You might be better dressed than most Generals, darling, but still so _clearly_ GAR.”

They stepped out of the ship’s port, Cody back in full armor, and Kenobi cutting quite the figure. Anakin hadn’t taken time to appreciate it before, when he was too busy furious at being indebted to him, and captured, and the whole galactic mess of a situation dumped at his feet. But as the captain led them through the crowd of other pirates, ships, crates, and crew, all Anakin could do was appreciate the physicality and presence of him. Men parted under his gaze, even if he was shorter, smaller than some of them, even if many of them were dressed and armed like clones (the number of them astonished Anakin many times over). It was no question who held the power here.

The length of his coat, cut about his knee, fluttered with each step, the same earthy fabric that had struck so strongly in Anakin’s mind. His tunic and pants were the same, a tight but casual fit, billowing open fabric across his chest and all showed the strength, the musculature of his body. It was a rugged look that could be found nowhere else in the over-polished aesthetics of the galactic war and its heroes. Kenobi was the polar opposite of Core World fashion- that gravity defying head gear and those stiff skirts. This was a figure perfectly suited to the Outer Rim, to the shadows and mythos he was built out of. The burn of his gaze was no less hot no matter how many times he caught Anakin’s eye. 

Anakin kept his voice low, but still loud enough for Kenobi to hear. “So if your base is here on Florrum, do you work for Hondo?”

There was a staticky sound through the helmet, but Cody coughed or laughed or both to quickly off the noise. Kenobi’s very dignified air broke with a look of surprise and perhaps disgust “Work for _Hondo_? No, not at all. I would call him an acquaintance but he’s tried to collect my bounty too many times for that. He does refer to me as his friend though, but mostly to mock me.”

“What about honor among thieves and all that?”

“Honor among thieves means I won’t stab him in the back and won’t go after a score he’s made claim to. It does _not_ , according to Hondo’s rules, prevent me and my bounty from being that claim.”

Kenobi muttered something to his clone companion before ducking them into a hut. “Cody will have you inspected by our medics, and show you to a bunk. I want you ready to leave whenever I need you.”

“It’s not like I have much choice in this.”

Kenobi’s grin agreed, no, he did not. “Welcome aboard, General.”

-

The medbay hut was structured from the hull of some destroyed ship. Cody was like a statue at the entrance, but Anakin had been around enough clone soldiers not to be unnerved by the stance. It was his duty, he was only being diligent, even if his hand never left his blaster. He didn’t even jolt when two men appeared. More clones. One was bald and the other had moustache. Neither one of them wore armor. 

“Oh great, of course there’s someone here when _we’re_ on med duty.” Most of their conversation was directed at one another, so Anakin stayed silent. They didn’t ask him anything, apparently able to figure out on their own what was wrong. One of them slathered his side with bacta and patches, and the other worked him through a range of motions and exercises. A broken rib that would heal, _lots_ of bruising, scrapes along his back and shoulders, all of it fixable. 

He picked up their names—Waxer and Boil—and that even under his helmet Cody regarded them with mixed exasperation and amusement. Anakin supposed even if they weren’t bonded by serving the GAR, they were still brothers, and they acted as such. 

He knew it was not true that Kenobi had stolen Cody or any of these men- a ridiculous joke in the first place, but everything was so _normal_ . They were like all their vod he’d met. They weren’t kept here by force. Waxer and Boil bickered and talked with an ease only those with their freedom can have. Cody laughed at Kenobi with the same openness. He didn’t understand how clones could be _here_ , affiliated with a pirate and still working under some unclear cause. 

There was so much more to Kenobi than he had expected. A depth to his actions and motives, to _everything_. Anakin wanted to sink into it and discover the man, investigate every detail of him with the same care and diligence he gave to a machine. He wanted to understand Kenobi like they were the same being. 

But he did not see him once Waxer gave Cody the all clear to take him away. Anakin did not see him when he was led to another makeshift building with a cot set up. He did not even see him when he dreamt, because the pull of exhaustion at his trauma-tired body was too much. 

It took three days before Cody appeared and said it was time. 

Anakin had already noticed the unsurprisingly dingy building jutting out of a makeshift hangar. It was strung with lights and stuffed full of bodies, Weequay pirates, Twi’leks, clones (nearly all in GAR-issued beskar), and a number of other species. It was a diversity only seen in the lower levels of Coruscant or in the Outer Rim. It was a mix that did not care for aesthetics, but for culture and camaraderie. 

Cody led them through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, and a door opened up to a nearly empty meeting room. Aside from Kenobi, two people were already there: the “old friends.” One sat with his legs propped on the table, leaning precariously back in his chair, and the other looked murderous. Anakin hated that he recognized them both. 

“Wait- you’re telling me _this_ is who’s helping us track Dooku?”

“I see introductions are not necessary then- which is good because I would hate to waste time on trivialities.”

“Woah, Kenobi, where’d you pick up this shiny GAR General? He’s the envy of the galaxy— I would have dressed nice if I knew what a treat you had-“

“Vos, please,” Kenobi waved a hand and the other rolled his eyes. Quinlan Vos. Anakin knew who he was, the Jedi who performed undercover work, a maverick within the Order. “ _Vos_ ,” he repeated with paced emphasis, “has been able to give the final confirmation on our lead with Dooku. With that, now we must act quickly before he eludes us.”

And the other, still sitting silently and glaring like this was all beneath her, was Asajj Ventress. “Hurry and explain your idiotic plan, Kenobi, so we can follow Dooku before _you_ lose him _again_.”

Outside, on the rest of Florrum, Kenobi had been regarded with respect. His men kept out of his way, he exuded authority and command. Anakin could feel it, sure and heavy in his gut, that all eyes were cautiously on Kenobi, expecting him to strike at any moment. It was fear and respect. They had to always know he could strike them down and would do so without mercy. He’d had a few days of seeing their respect and awe for him. 

But here, Quinlan Vos and Ventress rolled their eyes and quipped with indifference and distaste. Perhaps that was an honor reserved for “old friends”. And what did that make Anakin, who had mocked him and pressed a knife to his throat and would live to tell the tale?

“There will be time for all of that aboard the _Negotiator._ ”

Ventress and Vos did not wait for anyone to lead them, seeming familiar with this routine. Anakin lingered until Kenobi made a motion that left no room to wait. It was more a command than a request. It was time to leave. 

“Why did you name your ship after yourself?”

Kenobi smiled, and Anakin hated that he felt that warmth in his skin again. “I didn’t. I neglected to name it, and my men insisted we were really a package deal anyway.”

-

The ridiculous, _genius_ plan that Anakin had no choice but to go along with required they take two ships. Vos and Ventress would be together on one, and Kenobi’s crew the other, Anakin with him of course. 

Ventress was his second in command (shockingly not Cody) ever since she’d left Dooku. Anakin didn’t even know the Sith abandoned her, but he wasn’t exactly privy to every shifting of the Sith and Jedi tides. 

Kenobi kept from explaining things as much as possible. The most Anakin got was that Ventress hated Dooku more than she hated anyone else.

The best he could understand of Quinlan Vos was that he saw this as serving a greater purpose than Jedi or Republic. A little association with pirates and a former Sith was nothing on his record. 

But despite all his doubts, the former Sith assassin’s ship sailed ahead, and for her Dooku let down his shields. Kenobi’s comparatively dinky vessel could slide onto the hangar deck with unobtrusive ease. 

“And _what_ , you think Dooku is so distracted with Ventress that we can just search this whole ship without him noticing?” It was a _Providence_ -class dreadnought, they couldn’t just stumble around. The ship was massive! 

“Of course not,” Kenobi surveyed the hangar. “Cody, stay in communication with Vos. We need this ship ready to leave without a moment's notice.” Cody gave his affirmative, which meant it was just the two of them to search the ship— A series of whirling beeps followed them and an astromech droid rolled around the clone. “This is R2D2, a gift from a mutual friend of ours.”

“Mutual friend in the same sense as Ventress or Dooku?”

“No,” Kenobi’s eyes glittered with private amusement. “Not the same sense at all.” He beckoned so Anakin followed with antsy exasperation. Even if he had his blaster back, he felt as secure as he would if he were drifting in the vacuum of space. The droid was a steady hum following behind them. “Now Artoo, scan the ship-“

Kenobi pointed to a port in the wall and Anakin shook his head. “ _That_ ,” and he pointed to a different one, “is the computer base. You were going to have your droid plug into an outlet.”

The pirate regarded the two panels, shrugged, “You may be right- now Artoo, the scan if you will.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes- he didn’t even know the difference! He was going to get this droid fried and he was supposed to trust him to best Count Dooku, renowned Sith and face of the Separatist movement?! Great. 

The beeps came from a communicator on Kenobi’s wrist, not unlike Anakin’s destroyed one, and not from Artoo. 

Vos’ voice: “Kenobi-“

“Quinlan, dear, have you located Count Dooku?”

“No, this was just a social call. How are things with that pretty general you kidnapped?”

Anakin didn’t know why those words made him flush and stare at the droid, not the pirate. He crossed his arms, impatient and avoiding Kenobi’s gaze even when he could feel it. A heated look preceded his answer, “Quite well, as you might imagine.” Force- his voice rolled so smoothly and— what was any of that even supposed to mean? Artoo whirled, buzzing and beeping. 

“He says Dooku’s top level, in the command room.” Kenobi raised an eyebrow, astonished Anakin could translate the droid seamlessly. 

“No surprise there. Vos-“

“Yeah we’re already on it. He set up quite the welcome party for us. You better find those plans quick.” The transmission cut out without another word; Artoo beeped again. 

“We have to move quickly,” the pirate motioned for both Anakin and the droid to follow. The doors to the lift slid open, and it was a rather anticlimactic ride but it stopped shorter than he expected. 

“Artoo and Vos said he’d be in the command tower, why are we stopping?”

“Because _we_ are not chasing Dooku,” Kenobi grinned and when the lift doors slid open there was finally some action— a blaster bolt smoldered on the wall between their heads. This time the thought and sound of Kenobi’s lightsaber didn’t fill him with dread, but spurred on a rush of adrenaline. The blue blade hummed and swooshed through the air, deflecting blasts and giving Anakin the cover to shoot down droids. They were just standard battle droids, the ones always lauded as simple and disposable. And what kind of army did that make? Programmed to fight and die in service to Dooku and Grievous. 

“Wonderful shot, Skywalker! No wonder you’re the Republic’s poster boy!” Did Kenobi ever _not_ look so smug? Anakin could barely spare the glance to glare at him and wished he hadn’t even managed that— In his dreams and imaginations he’d conjured up this idea of the pirate with raw, stalking power. He’d slice through anything in his way with an unbreakable stride. The reality was somehow more impressive- Kenobi was _elegant_ in each twirl of his saber, his stance refined and flawless. His power was more subtle but still undeniable, as another windmill of blue slashed through the last of their welcoming committee. His hair had fallen just out of place but he did not break a sweat. 

Anakin stuttered into the newfound break, “I’m not— I’m _not_ the Republic’s _poster boy_ , I’m not their _anything_.” Kenobi’s astromech came rolling out of the lift with a series of animatedly relieved beeps. 

A soft click and the woosh of his lightsaber turning off, “Oh but you most certainly are, General Skywalker. I think you’re everything to the Republic.” For a moment their eyes met, Kenobi’s shining with unfathomable depth.

Anakin cleared his throat, “The plans?”

“Of course-“ they took back to running down the hall of the ship. The sound of their footfalls in tandem echoed and Anakin wasn’t sure where they were going. If Dooku was above them- though he might not keep the plans on him at all times. He still could not shake the utter confusion and anger that Kenobi would know about planet-destroying weapons before he did. 

The commlink beeped “Kenobi!” This time it was Ventress. “Need to move— Dooku, he’s-“

Because he was trailing a little behind them, Artoo wasn’t caught when the shields went up but he reacted first, letting out a mechanized scream. “Great,” Anakin sighed. He and Kenobi stood, surrounded by walls of shimmering blue. He watched the pirate tap his wrist before declaring 

“The comm signal is jammed. Artoo-“ the droid chirped, “get back to Cody. Tell him we’ve been detained.”

“So I take it this isn’t part of your brilliant plan?”

“Well, no. I did think we were smarter than to fall into a trap like this.” All the charm dropped from his face. Now he stared with a severe expression, a deep crease between his eyebrows and whatever frown covered by the hand over his beard. “It seems we have to wait for whatever Dooku has in store for us.”

Waiting consisted of watching a troop of more battle droids and droidekas roll up to their makeshift prison. The walls dropped with a swoop and Anakin wanted to try and fight them off, but he did not see Kenobi raise his blade. Instead he let them cuff his wrists rather willingly. 

They weren’t led all the way up to the command tower, but to a great expansive council room with one wall entirely of transparisteel window. It was dark and dramatic, perfectly in Dooku’s style. 

Anakin could not pretend his knowledge of Dooku was much more than what came to him through the Republic’s carefully crafted propaganda. He knew he was a Jedi turned Sith, now the diplomatic leader of the Separatist forces. He was old, but held himself with a dignified air that confirmed his age was not a weakness. The Count’s face had a permanently somber droop and his voice was a fitting rumble, “Kenobi. I see you’ve brought a pet.” 

“Count Dooku, it’s always a pleasure.” Their wrists were still bound, but Kenobi bowed his head. So they were older enemies than Anakin realized. “Though I must say, you look much less frightening without Ventress at your side.” 

“Yes, my disgraced apprentice. Are you enjoying my scraps?” 

Anakin could not tell why, but that phrase bothered Kenobi more than anything else. 

“Come now, Count. It’s hardly a fair fight if you keep Skywalker and I in cuffs. Unless you think you couldn’t take us-“

“I will not be lured into your taunting and wordplay, Kenobi. You were meant for so much more than this, _piracy_ .” He spat the word out with venom, face contorting with repulsion. A flippant wave of his hand sent Kenobi staggering back to the floor. Then Dooku’s tone changed, sickly sweetening “So _you’re_ Skywalker? I have heard so much about you. You’ve cost me quite a lot in this war, though it’ll be no matter in the end.”

Anakin hated how sure he sounded. He was tired of this taunting and maneuvering. Dooku began to pace, walking circles around them, like they were his prey. Like at any moment he would strike and there was nothing they could do but die under his relentless, unstoppable hand. Anakin eyed Kenobi, catching his breath and standing slowly. There was a feeling like electricity through him when their gazes met, and somehow he knew. But still his anger surged. “It will matter when I make sure the Republic defeats you. Your droid army won’t mean anything then!”

When Kenobi grinned, it held private mischief, secrets Anakin was wary to discover. Dooku’s grin was not like that- it was purely vile, a snarl of teeth and noble refinement that promised cold, merciless destruction. He paused, the time to strike had come. “No, my droid army is nothing compared to you.”

Kenobi shouted “ _N_ _ow,_ Anakin!” 

They were very lucky that Dooku, in all his pride, or the droids, in all their programmed simplicity, never took their weapons. Anakin jerked his blaster out of its holster and by some miracle aimed perfectly at Kenobi’s wrists, held above his head as the clear target. The blast buzzed and the pirate’s hands sprang free with a clatter of shot metal. Two lightsabers clicked and hummed in unison, one electric blue and the other a bleeding red. Kenobi danced out of the way and the first swing of his blade cut through Anakin’s bindings. 

“We have to get back to this ship-“

“But what about-“

“It’s far more important that we leave alive, even without them.” Kenobi did not wait for him to finish- they didn’t have that luxury. He spun to meet the glancing blow of Dooku’s lightsaber. Anakin could not have imagined the power of those clashing weapons. A surge of sparks and vibrations— their styles so vastly different, and Kenobi only protecting Anakin so they could retreat. 

Thankfully, entirely because of personal interest, Anakin pored over the schematics of ever ship and model he heard of- and the information proved useful now. Dooku attacked relentlessly, but they didn’t have to waste time scrambling to find their way around. “We don’t have time to wait for a lift!” Anakin shouted, and he tried firing at Dooku, but it felt pointless. 

“Just get the door open!” 

Dooku cut a close call, marking the floor of his ship with red scores. They burned hot, each one missing Kenobi and sending him crossing and skipping backwards. The door slid open, Anakin shot the panel and in the same instant Dooku landed a cut on Kenobi’s thigh, a shallow but long slice. His voice did not register as his own when he tried to reach out, barely missing Kenobi’s body flying into the lift. Dooku has flung him again with another effortless push of his hand. Anakin realized how terrifying the Force could be. 

“You are both fools. I cannot believe this is all the Republic has to show for itself. You will both die by my hand.” 

Anakin shot his arm out, blaster in hand, and did not think about the nearness of the blade until it was too late. When his dreams showed him the smoldering carnage of Kenobi’s blade, he did not know it would be quite like this. The stench of charred flesh, another kind of burn in his nostrils and a stinging in his eyes. His voice was choked out, ripped from his throat. Someone else yelled, his blaster clattered to the ground and the lift gave a sickening crunch. He turned to see Kenobi, hand raised in a fist. The lift’s control panel crumpled like flimsi, then they lurched. Their carriage crashed through the lift shaft, gaining speed all the while. 

Kenobi’s voice was weak, something beeped, “Artoo! Artoo you need to stop elevator 31174! Cut it off Artoo!” Anakin did not hear a sound on the other side that confirmed they weren’t plummeting to their death. 

“Kenobi?” Everything was moving- Was that because they were about to die, or because of the pain numbing out his body? Anakin wasn’t sure if he slumped down or if the pirate stood up, but he felt a hand on his side, bracing him as the lift screeched. The doors opened: they were stuck between floors. The floor jolted- he felt nauseous. 

He could hear voices but didn’t want to look at anything or anyone. The only person he could clearly see was Kenobi, right at his side, helping him through the tiny but manageable gap between floor and ceiling. “Help me carry him-“ Someone else’s hands joined- some alarm on the ship blared. 

“Ventress-“

“She and Vos are already aboard sir.”

Anakin heard a distinctly relieved sound from Kenobi, right by his ear. His vision tilted, they’d stepped onto the ramp. “Cody, get us out of here.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Anakin felt the lurch of the ship at the same time he was dropped onto a bunk. His stomach knotted up, a lump in his throat. _Fuck_ he felt so sick, everything swam in front of him, even his head throbbed. “ _Kenobi-_ “ Anakin moaned, trying to find the pirate’s face again. He was always clear, an anchor. If he could just see him, maybe this would stop. There was a shadow at his side, coming closer. 

“Please, you can just call me-“

Instead a door hissed open. The shadow fell back. It was like when he tried to look at things in his dreams, and they darted out of sight. “Oh kark— is he alright?”

“He will be- now’s not the time to talk, Quinlan.”

Anakin didn’t know if there was really a pause, or if it was just the way the seconds dragged on. “His arm-“

“I know.” Kenobi’s voice ran cold and poised as durasteel. “Would you leave us, I cannot talk about our failure right now-“

Anakin’s hearing rang, crescendoing in an ear splitting buzz before fading back to muffled voices and hums. He’d tried to move and brushed what was left of his arm against the bunk. 

His arm. He tried to look at it, to say something. Only a choked sob came out. 

“I can get Waxer and Boil, they’ll know what to do better than I-“

“Please, just stay.” Anakin’s head lolled back. He didn’t want to look anymore. Not when he could feel the hot tears on his cheeks, maybe hotter than his charred skin. He didn’t need to look, he could imagine it. Burnt, an angry red and smoldering black. It would not bleed, but maybe it would get infected, maybe it would kill him. Wouldn’t that be a way for him to go? 

On Tatooine he’d dreamed of heroic adventures with pirates and this was what he got. His arm reduced to a lump, crying in front of the man he’d hunted for three years. 

Vaguely he was aware that Kenobi had been hurt too, and that he cared about this mission. It was a loss for both of them. 

Anakin swallowed around his tears, the gross feeling in his throat. He gasped, desperate to get the words out. “It’s my fault. I’ll find him again, I swear, I _fucking_ swear it. I’ll find Dooku again and I’ll kill him.”


	7. Convalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I know these chapters have been shorter and spaced out but I decided to wait until I had way more written before posting

Time passed in a haze. It was more than just his arm- losing it made his whole body go into shock. He threw up everything he was supposed to eat, his head never stopped pounding. It was like being sickly drunk and suffering a hangover and discovering what a phantom limb was all wrapped up into one delightful experience. 

He slept on and off, a day must have passed at the very least. Sometimes he’d wake and find himself alone, and sometimes Waxer or Boil was at his side. Never Vos or Ventress but that was hardly surprising. Eventually, there was Kenobi. 

Anakin’s throat was raw. It took him too many tries before he could even make a sound, let alone a coherent sentence. But the need to say something was stronger than his body’s protests. “Why did you save me?”

In their fleeting interactions, Anakin noticed Kenobi was quite good at making sure his face only displayed what he wanted to. There were brief moments where that façade broke— and it wasn’t as apathetic and fake as a diplomatic smile. But for the most part, the pirate glowed with charm and command. He attracted Anakin’s gaze like a magnet. The only thing he showed neared surprise, but maybe even that was amusement. He didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like that maybe Kenobi raised an eyebrow because Anakin sounded ungrateful even while lying broken, but alive at least, on his ship. 

But his answer was startlingly simple. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He spent the first decade of his life waiting for someone to come to his little backwater home and save them, save all the slaves on Tatooine and everyone who lived under control of Hutt space. Save the older people who had never known a free second of their life, save the servants of the Hutt that lived with the threat of being killed over any minor inconvenience. Slaves who could be abused, cast aside, killed over anything. And then even the people who were free, ignored by the rest of the galaxy, forgotten in the desert to suffer on unforgiving sand. He begged for pirate stories and adventures because they were the only thing that told him life was better and there were such things as heroes and freedom. And living in the Republic had quickly shown him how naive he had been. Pirates were self interested, and weren’t going to save a planet unless they could cut a profit from it. In their few run-ins, even Hondo had laid that out quite explicitly. 

The Sepratist base on Vanqor could have blown up at any second. It was already swarming with droids, and the only person in danger was Anakin, and he was part of the GAR, accompanied by two Jedi and three troopers. Despite all of that, Kenobi had shown up, and helped him. And then, confounding him more, saved him from Dooku. There was no reason Anakin should have even  _ been  _ there- what did the pirate gain? Anakin wanted to know  _ why _ , like a burning itch under his skin, a clawing want in his mind. The unsettling need to understand Kenobi, despite every part of him knowing it was a danger, a poison to be so enticed in the first place. Anakin wanted the answer to be more obvious:  _ “I planned on taking you hostage, I wanted to use you for ransom-“ _ something along those lines. 

But  _ Why wouldn’t I? _ was a simple answer, straightforward in the way it hinted  _ Any good person would.  _

When anyone looked at Hondo, his career was no surprise. But  _ Kenobi _ — Anakin could see him just as easily dominating a Senate floor, or brandishing his saber with the poise of the Jedi. Again he couldn’t understand the urge that something about Kenobi ran deeper. It would have been so easy if he made his motives clear, but instead Anakin found him impenetrable. 

Kenobi- smuggler, weapons dealer, killer, pirate. Anakin didn’t want to think of him as a  _ good _ person. He didn’t want to owe him anything. That would only make things harder. 

-

Dreaming felt like swimming, or floating. Nothing was permanent. He just knew when he did wake up, there was his own sweat on his skin, clothes tacky and gross, that he stared at the same ceiling, and that his arm was still gone. Fleeting moments of being awake, and each one hit him like the exploding death of a star. One certainty. His arm was gone. There wasn’t even anything left in him to throw up. It all came out as heaving gasps, sickly yellow bile. His throat burned and there was a burning pain behind one of his eyes. 

Someone moved— Kenobi? No, not this time. The lights blurred, he was closing his eyes again. Was that the sound of the ship, or did it come from him? Groaning, a high whine- he wanted to curl into himself. Let space consume him. 

What he really wanted was a familiar hand comforting him, whispering assurances. Would she tell the same stories now? Would he be able to bear them, after seeing the galaxy in all its honest glories. Pirate tales apparently don’t stand the test of time. But she would. 

-

“My mom used to tell me stories about pirates.” His eyes were closed. He did not bother opening them, but at this point he always knew who was in the room with him. He told himself it was because they stepped differently, or it was the way they moved-- but he never had any doubts when it was Kenobi at his side. 

“So you were born in the Outer Rim? Which system?”

“How did you-”

A humorless laugh. “Only in the Outer Rim are there  _ stories _ about us. Stories with pirates as heroes, as people. In the rest of the galaxy, we’re a fiction. At least to you, those stories carried hope, and truth.”   
“What makes you think I ever thought of you- any pirate- as a hero?” He wished his throat did not burn with each word.

“Because you have not killed me. Because anyone else would have seen me and hunted me down to serve the Republic. But I think you do it for yourself. You are too smart not to know how the Republic, how your Core worlds paint the galaxy in shadows. They say they are the light, tell their children to stick to their order, their reason and judgment. Because in the darkness-” Though he did not see it, Anakin could hear the bitter grin. “In the darkness they’ll find the worst creatures, the worst planets imaginable. I only want to prove that in the darkness there is freedom.”

-

He still didn’t move, but at least he could stay awake longer. 

His head replayed everything that happened, a broken loop. It wasn’t that one catastrophic moment he saw over and again. No, he had the rest of his life to be reminded by the impersonal slice of a red saber, burning away his flesh. He had forever to look at the stump of his arm and whatever desperate attempts to replace it and never forget that. But everything else,  _ that’s _ what he wanted to make sense of. What Dooku said, something about Kenobi- 

Their sabers clashed like colliding ships, two unstoppable forces scattering sparks. Unrelenting. Yet unlike the cut into his body, entirely personal. The posturing, dragging out the inevitable fight, wasting time mocking and jeering, a jab about Anakin. Both of them known for their words, the Count as the figurehead of the Confederacy, and Kenobi as a smooth-talking pirate- yet to one bitterness surged, revealed more than it should. _ You were meant for so much more than this _ . Who said that to an enemy? If Anakin didn’t know better, he’d say it was fond disappointment. 

But that couldn’t be. 

-

An elevator panel crumpling under invisible pressure. The slash of blue, just like in his dream. It came to him as blurs, he wasn’t even sure if he was asleep or just thinking about them so much he could visualize it all over again.

“So are you ever going to be honest?”

“I’m a pirate Skywalker, isn’t it rather my job to deceive.” 

“Don’t give me that shit, Kenobi. You’re something else, I just… I can’t figure it out yet.”

“Well until you do-“

Anakin groaned, fell flat again and gave up trying to move. “Your mission failed. Dooku is still out there with those plans, and I… You didn’t even get anything out of this. How are you so calm?”

“Perhaps I’m not, I’m just better at hiding it.”

-

An Outer Rim pirate who knew more about the inner workings of war politics, and of Sith power plays than he did. Anakin was trained to do one thing: trained to fight. And facing the great Separtist leader Count Dooku was the ultimate enemy, the ultimate proof of his abilities. But he’d failed miserably. Shouldn’t the backwater criminal be the one hurt— the one with the missing limb, if not dead?

He caught a shine of copper in the bleary glimpses that swam in front of him. Hazing, shifting into focus. Kenobi and his bright, focused eyes. A smile that caused a stir in Anakin’s gut, and he wanted to see something real, not placating, behind that face. He was going to leave again, leave Anakin to sleep and whine and stew in his grief and pity— “Do you know him?” Voice cracking with disuse, a burn in his nose and the back of his throat. 

There was a pause, where Anakin sought out his gaze, but he could not move— how pathetic. “Dooku?” The pirate mused like there was anyone else to consider. “In a way. I once thought I knew him, many people did before he became… what he is now.”

“A  _ Sith _ ? A Separatist?”

“Yes.”

“ _ How? _ ” Whether it was a question of  _ who are you _ or  _ what are you _ Anakin couldn’t decide. 

“Surely I’m entitled to some secrets, Skywalker. I believe it’s part of my charm.”

Anakin glared, eyes snapping. His vision swam but he was determined to stay awake, to get at least one answer out of the man. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” A loaded phrase and Anakin reveled in seeing the weight of it flash in Kenobi’s eyes- the way he skirted his gaze away from his charge. “I’m owed something.”

To Anakin, the cabin was not cramped. He had the benefit of laying on the bunk, not needing to move, but Kenobi shifted like suddenly the space was too small and he did not know what to do. Cornered. Maneuvered by his own character- a desire to be good that meant caving to the General though he was, easily, his captive. 

“Dooku,” his tone dripped venom, but still so cool- an unshakable aloofness always carried in his voice- “was the teacher of a man I once knew.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “A Jedi. I’m not a complete idiot, I do know something of how your great friend became a Separatist leader.”

“Yes, well- It’s hardly important. Clearly Dooku is no longer a Jedi, and the man I knew is long dead.”

“Because of him?”

“No, another Sith. Dead now too. I made sure of that.” And his eyes burned with something new, it made Anakin’s skin crawl. Still he ached to know more, but the pirate was not willing. “That is all I will say on it, General. They are not memories I enjoy.”

-

“Leave me on some planet. Just let me by on my own.” 

“Really, Skywalker, this is no time for theatrics.”

“If I’m going to die, I want it to be somewhere nice.”

“Really? Like where?”

“I’ve never been to Naboo.”

“It’s a lovely planet. What about home?”

“… No. I can’t go back there. Not like this.“

-

“Naboo.”

“What? But that’s systems away, and Republic territory! I thought we were just gonna bring him to Mandalore-“

“You’re going to Mandalore?”

Kenobi glared down at him. Kenobi, Vos, and Cody were crammed into what was now, informally, Anakin’s cabin. His place to convalesce- but really it was where he still threw up and slept and didn’t do much healing at all. Whatever the pirate’s plans were, he kept them entirely to himself, Anakin’s needling did nothing. Though he supposed a pathetically injured GAR prisoner sicking up in front of you isn’t really intimidating— no if Anakin had a captive even half as sorry as him he wouldn’t be compelled to reveal anything either.

Cody was impassive. Vos stood with hands crossed. Apparently the Jedi was the one opposed to the risky breach into Republic space. 

“I’m not toting a general around with me, so unless you would like to assume responsibility for him-“

“You know I’ve got my own jobs, Kenobi. Your idea to keep him in the first place, now we gotta sneak onto  _ Naboo _ of all places— And  _ what  _ you’re alright with going back there-“

“Cody has already set the course.” There was a new chill to his voice. The pain in Anakin’s head pulsed and he felt like he was gonna throw up again. Instead he tilted his head back, breathed in sharply. A flicker of something passed the pirate’s face. Anakin was tired of the judgmental heat of his gaze. It was like— it was like when he first met General Windu, and something lit up inside him. It was something he couldn’t figure out, a mix of feelings that weren’t his own and came out of nowhere. Like staring into a sun or that first lurch into hyperspace. “We will leave General Skywalker on a planet that provides him the means to get back- it’s not like I’m proposing we deliver him straight to Coruscant, unless you want to explain to the Council how you’re involved in all this.”

Vos frowned, muttered something Anakin couldn’t focus on. So their course was set to Naboo. Kenobi, after dragging him onto some mission to fight Dooku, had finally realized what an inconvenience he was- easier to abandon him on some planet, let him go crawling back to the Republic. Like this he wasn’t worth keeping around, not to the GAR or to a pirate. 

-

Anakin knew he’d said he’d rather die somewhere like this, somewhere as beautiful as Naboo. Padmé spared no detail in describing it, but admitted anything she could say paled in comparison. Figures anyone not born on a lifeless sand planet might think that, actually having some sentimentality for their home. But it was just as amazing as she had promised, more so really. The stretch of mountains, hills, great trees and waterfalls. The air was wet but not unbearably humid, the breath in his lungs wasn’t the recycled synthetic oxygen of a ship or the meticulously cleaned vapors of Coruscant. It was real. It was the most alive he’d felt since Vanqor. Maybe in all his years really. Beautiful in a way a city planet could never be, beautiful in a way no planet was when under siege. Anakin would have fallen to his knees if he weren’t so stubbornly determined to prove he could walk on his own. Kenobi had advised against it, but at least Vos was supportive of his efforts. 

“Come on, Kenobi, if you love him you gotta let him go.”

“I’m fine. I can walk- It wasn’t either of my legs that were cut off.” 

That was the first time he said anything about it. 

From her place at the ship’s port, Ventress drawled, “I think it would have been a fine improvement,” She folded her arms; her smile was wicked under Kenobi’s withering glare. “I only mean because limb enhancements have  _ really  _ progressed. Maybe if half of you was cybernetic you’d stand a chance against the Sith,” she said oh so innocently. 

Anakin did not have the fight in him to say she hadn’t done any better.

They were a small, sad party, outside of  _ The Negotiator _ on some uninhabited part of the planet’s surface. Anakin just trying to breath, Vos and Ventress lingering like this was something social and goodbyes were even necessary. Maybe she was wondering why they couldn’t just kill Anakin. That’s all he could think anyways.

Quinlan Vos pressed a communicator into his hand- very different from his that had been broken on Vanqor-- how long ago was that now? Time eluded him on Kenobi’s ship. Weeks at least. “Get in contact with the Jedi, tell them where you are. I shouldn’t have to say it, but don’t say anything about my involvement-- you probably shouldn’t mention Dooku either-”

Anakin rolled his eyes, practically bent over and lifted his mangled right arm. “And what am I supposed to say about this? That it fell off?” All too obvious, what with the way it was clean and cauterized, that only one thing could have done it. 

“This isn’t about you, Skywalker. I don’t care how it makes you look so either make something up or say nothing. If you start running your mouth then the whole GAR, the whole  _ Senate  _ has to know what happened-” Anakin knew the Jedi’s worry was about blowing his cover and jeopardizing whatever arrangement he had with Kenobi. It meant ruining  _ their _ plans- but the idea of everyone knowing gave him a different fear: everyone knowing he was weak. Hero with No Fear proved to be a lie. He couldn’t be that helpless again--

“I won’t say anything” Anakin gritted out. 

Vos left him. He was replaced by Kenobi and his droid. 

“I’m sending Artoo with you. I’m afraid he likes adventure and will be more help to you than me right now.” The astromech wheeled back and forth excitedly. One of his lights beeped. It was enough to make Anakin smile. “Anyways, he’s famous here on Naboo. Anything that your status would not already get you while you stay here, Artoo can manage.”

Anakin didn’t even know where to begin with his questions on that. Artoo a famous droid- a hero of Naboo perhaps? Then how the fuck did Kenobi of all people have him-- said he got him from a mutual friend. Padmé.

“Right- and how am I supposed to get him back to you? He seems like a loyal little guy.” Artoo crossed next to him, let Anakin use him for a little support. He didn’t mind it, the idea of having a droid around to help him for a bit. He didn’t like that the droid would just be a reminder of Kenobi.

But the pirate smiled, “I suppose we’ll have to meet again, General. Unless you want to come with me.”

Anakin, mangled and beaten, missing a limb, a GAR general, and Kenobi wanted him to what? Be part of his crew? But Anakin had fought with him, they’d relied on one another and he couldn’t pretend like the man did anything but monopolize his thoughts. A magnetic draw, an oil slick slope that Anakin couldn’t fight. He offered a hand,asking for his help again. Asking for a partnership, camaraderie, if even for one more mutual mission. 

It was a lie- a farce. It was something he could not do, not when he had searched for  _ so  _ long. When others saw the pirate Kenobi, they spread tales of his fury and the monster behind his eyes. But Anakin saw only a promise, an adventure. But how could he agree to that- how long would he be satisfied with this dream? The dream where he believed Kenobi was good, and they could trade barbs and he could look at that disbelieving but open smile and feel comfort- how long before it would turn back into fear and hate. To agree would be to say he trusted him, which Anakin could not do.

So instead of agreeing and giving in, he stated a fact. A simple one he had known for so long. “You killed Wat Tambor.”

For the nth time, Kenobi looked surprised that Anakin was so forward, so blunt. His smooth reply: “and many other Separatists. Does that change things?” His eyes begged  _ please, accuse me of more, it will all be true _ .

Anakin couldn’t meet his eyes. He was a pirate, serving his own wills, flying into battle, slaughtering and hanging a Separatist leader spoke of a rage beyond duty or civility. Anakin couldn’t understand how someone capable of such acts, of such criminality, could look at him with kindness and come so close to saying “I want you at my side.”

His voice sounded hollow to himself- conflict can have that effect. “Yes.” But did it? Did it change things? Before he’s even lain eyes on him he knew Kenobi killed Tambor, so why should that detail have any impact-- 

“Ah, well-“ the pirate stopped looking at him, pulled back with a casual withdrawal, relaxed and closed off at the same time. “Everyone is a monster to someone, I suppose.” Somehow, that made Anakin feel cold shame in the pit of his stomach, and meeting his eyes again, found Kenobi’s pale stare unforgiving. He stood at the port of his ship in a pose eerily similar to his figure on Mandalore, when Anakin had first seen him. He knew this would not be their last encounter, and already he dreaded the idea of meeting again. It was like he knew Anakin’s thoughts, when over the soft rumble of his idling transport he leaned just the tantalizing bit forward to say “You fascinate me, General Skywalker. We’ve fought as friends, but if you’re concerned that some day we’ll meet again, and you’ll have to make a choice-- I wouldn’t worry too much, dear one.”


	8. A Search for Answers

“How does it feel?”

He waved his left hand and stared at the right. It felt fine, but he didn’t want to move it. Whether it was better or worse than the flesh one, wasn’t an answer he wanted. He had too much to do, so he couldn’t let it be a hindrance. But if it were better? Then even that would be a reminder of his failure. If it were stronger, more powerful— a machine proving to be a more capable man than he was on his own. 

But the medical droid didn’t take his dismissal and he finally voiced “It’s great.” 

“Satisfactory.” It beeped. “I have also been instructed to inform you the Council and the Chancellor are waiting.” 

He didn’t bother responding. Usually he would, but his anxiety had been astronomical since returning to Coruscant. 

Left on Naboo by Kenobi, only with Artoo, that was the sad sight that entered the city and sent a transmission to Council. Bruised body, missing arm and all, after weeks of no one knowing anything about him, and there he was on Padmé’s homeworld. Master Plo and Ahsoka were sent to bring him back safely. Padmé was waiting on Coruscant, she had tears in her eyes when she hugged him, but when he asked (trying to lighten the mood) if he missed anything, she grew quiet. 

A pirate could intimately know about Core politics and planet destroying weapons, could know about Sith and Jedi history, and Padmé had all her Senatorial secrets— Anakin would always be separate. Apparently no matter what he didn’t get to know what was really happening. Lost his fucking arm but that wasn’t good enough for anyone to tell him  _ why _ . Really at this point, with all the good he did- sure the Republic could pluck him right off Tatooine, groom him and educate him into their service, make him perfectly suited to the GAR but not explain a thing about the war. Easier if no one questions it, easier if he doesn’t know there’s a bigger fight happening. So really, why not just get rid of him? They could keep their secrets, lot of good they did him anyway— Anakin had plenty of time to stew. He’d felt the first rush of frustration, and it had long since simmered out. It wasn’t a quickly impassioned singular thought, but a slowly brewing anger that had always been there. It had been there since the doors of the ship closed on Tatooine. It had been there every time a higher up gave him a command that cost innocent lives; there every time men fought and died for effete diplomats to keep control over citizens they didn’t care for; there every time the Council couldn’t tell him things because he’s a civilian and every time the Chancellor cooed he’s more than that. The Hero with No Fear fights for honesty, for the Republic, for democracy. 

Only now he saw there was so much of his own life woven into the dark matter. So much maneuvering around him to keep him in line, keep him doing what he should do, but not thinking about it too hard. 

He’d spent so long shoving that itching frustration into his search for Kenobi without even realizing that’s what it was- that’s why the pirate mattered to him. Because somehow he knew even in the beginning that  _ he _ was how Anakin would learn anything, glean truth from his own life. 

“Skywalker, it is a temporary-“

“Oh,  _ temporary?! _ My  _ arm  _ is pretty kriffing permanent!” Anakin forced up his sleeve, the mech arm glimmered in all its unimpressive glory. It was aesthetically plain, dull grey and smooth, not covered by synth skin or a glove, with no detailing to make it less garish. It was unbelievable- not the arm, but the Council, the Jedi Masters serving as High Generals. And he wanted to say those words, but annoyingly they came out of the mouth of the Chancellor instead. 

“This is hardly fair. Anakin-  _ General Skywalker _ \- has fought dutifully for this Republic for years. We feared we’d lost him these past weeks and now he has come back injured and you use it as an excuse to get rid of him?” The old man scoffed. Anakin hated how it sounded in his voice. It made him sound like a child who’s toy had been taken away. Like he needed Palpatine, his friend in the highest of places, to bully the Council out of their decision. 

“This comes with Skywalker’s predicament in mind. It has been weeks since Vanqor. Regardless of the injury sustained we would advise an off duty period to catch up with advancements in the war and any other relevant changes. This injury, and yes it’s very permanent nature, means,  _ Skywalker _ , that you need time to adjust  _ physically _ before we can allow you back in the field.”

Of course Master Windu would make it sound like standard procedure, boil it down to rule following. Inactive duty for an undetermined period of time. The foreseeable future. Until he could fight again, or maybe until they trusted him again. 

“This is an outrage- I will not stand for it! He is a hero of the Republic and serves a crucial mission to end this war!” Anakin could hear echoes of Palpatine’s request before he left. Which mission did he refer to now? The one to bring about peace and end the war, or the unofficial one to slaughter pirates—

Master Windu sat back, fingers steepled and brows creased near to touching with the intensity that he stared back at the Chancellor. “I am afraid it does not matter whether  _ you _ will stand for it. You do not have executive power over the Order. We make this decision as both High Generals of the Grand Army of the Republic and Masters of the Jedi Council, therefore the fate of Skywalker’s service in the GAR rests with us, not with you, Chancellor.”

Something about the old man’s demeanor got to Anakin. Something about _his_ rage, his outcry. It felt performed. Palpatine would fight the good fight, but it was true he did not have power over the Order and couldn’t make them do anything. Bully, coerce, put pressure on them- those things he could do, but _force_ their hand he could not. So later he could say “Oh, my boy I did _try_ to make them reconsider but it’s out of my hands.” And that would be where Palapatine’s cares ended, like this was anything less than Anakin’s entire life being taken away. So here, publicly, he wouldn’t align himself with that. It seemed, lately, that time and again the Chancellor gave him a certain enraged, uneasy feeling. For the levelheaded leader of the Republic he was supposed to be, Anakin saw too many details dig under the man’s skin, and too much hollowness in his dead eyes. 

Anakin bowed his head. “I hope to serve you and the galaxy again soon. Thank you, Master Windu, Master Yoda— and for sending Master Plo and Ahsoka to retrieve me safely from Naboo. If there is anything I can do for you during my rest here on Coruscant, I’d be honored.”

Palpatine looked like he’d just stepped in bantha shit, the grimace on his face so etched and shocked now that he was the rude one. His anger balanced out by Anakin’s new, unseen calm and respect to the Jedi Council. 

“Do for us, yes, you can.” Master Yoda shifted in his perfectly sized seat, gimer stick rolling in his hands. “Tell us the truth of your journey, you will not?”

They’d asked him earlier, first on Naboo, then Ahsoka while on their ship back, then again before taken to medical. There was more damage than just his arm, and that would have been enough to raise some eyebrows, but all together it was suspicious to say the least. Anakin kept his promise and didn’t say a word. Where would that get him? Admit to being saved by a pirate, then aiding said pirate in an attack against Count Dooku of all people to retrieve plans for a weapon that Anakin heard no whispers of here on Coruscant? It would make him out as a traitor, a lunatic. 

“What happened and how I came to Naboo are my own worries. I could not discuss it without endangering those who came to trust me, and that I have to trust in return.” 

“Force guides us, it does. Respect this answer, we must. Thank you, young Skywalker.”

And as he left, he saw none other than Quinlan Vos going in to meet the Council. Anakin ran cold, knowing how he’d just covered for the maverick Jedi, how Quinlan was a reason for his dismissal, but now  _ Anakin  _ was the one who had no purpose. 

Everyone in the galaxy had their secrets. 

And even if Kenobi had his too, at least he told Anakin about Dooku, about the weapon, and at least his eyes burned with raw intensity that could not be faked. At least with him, Anakin knew he was seen. Something nearing appreciation, the ringing but ironic memory of Kenobi  _ praising  _ him while they went after the Count. 

At least he still had that: Kenobi still out there, and Anakin would always find him. 

-

“What was that about?” He asked, from where he lay on Padmé’s couch. He’d rather be in his own space, but he doesn’t want to be alone. Yet even when he’d sought her out, she’d left him to answer some call, some small request as soon as he’d arrived. 

She sighed. If possible, she carried more weight on her shoulders than she did before he’d left. But again, she won’t say a word about it. He doesn’t expect a real answer, and she doesn’t give him one. “Just Bail. There was a complication over an understanding with the Council of Neutral Systems.” Her smile was a little pained. They both knew if she tried to explain more, he’d just zone out and grasp none of it. 

There had been something different since he’d come back, something more than just relief or pity over what he’d been through. No, Padmé spent very late hours with other Senators, and not in the same parties and social calls he was once a part of. The most she did was mention the Neutral Systems, refer to  _ negotiations  _ in a nondescript way. She was implicitly clear: it wasn’t his business. She couldn’t, more importantly she  _ wouldn’t  _ tell him. 

So she changed the subject. 

“Has there been any word yet?”

“No.” Anakin righted himself, swinging his legs smoothly from the back of the couch to its cushions. His head rushed with the momentum. Staring at his hand, he flexed the metal tendons. In between training and his new hunt, he spent his time fixing the damned thing. He was never going to be happy with the generic arm fitted to him, so he started tinkering with it. Now it shimmered black, but was still rather plain. A work in progress. The thing was though, it was  _ fine.  _ It worked, he had no problems with it. Physically, he was still running at peak performance, and still there was no sign the Council would let him back into service. 

But that was fine. He had a new goal. 

Or an old goal, the one he’d harbored for years, reignited. Meeting Kenobi changed things, knowing he was being lied to changed things. Still he craved answers desperately, and still he saw Kenobi as the only way to get them. 

He told no one. 

This wouldn’t be like when he got the idea in his head of a conspiracy against the Jedi, it wouldn’t be like the pathetic attempt to catch Kenobi on Mandalore. He was alone in this, he always was, so there was no reason to utter a syllable of his plans, not even to Padmé. 

Padmé’s tone took on something cool and leading, nearing impersonal. Diplomatic. “Does Palpatine still make time to meet with you?”

Anakin laughed humorlessly. “More than he should. I’m actually-” He’d run into the old politician on his way to Padmé’s and his friend wasted no time sighing out complaints about the current state of things, and oh how he’d  _ love _ to chat with Anakin sometime soon. “I should go. Can’t leave the Supreme Chancellor waiting.”

She reached out, her hand light on his knee. They’d touched less recently. He couldn’t help wondering if it was because of his arm. He couldn’t blame her for that. “I hope he doesn’t make his problems yours, Ani.”

He thought of the blackness of Palpatine’s eyes.  _ A promise, Anakin, unofficially, of course… It would be a weight off my shoulders... I know you won’t disappoint me. _

“No,” Anakin swallowed. Mechanical fingers curled into a fist. “Of course not.”

But that was, predictably, exactly what the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic had in mind for their little meeting. Glittering Coruscant, a view that exhausted Anakin now, unable to appreciate it each time he stepped into this office, the aesthetics overshadowed by the burdens of diplomacy. War. 

“They simply  _ don’t  _ cut it. The planet has its own security measures and police, but when we trust the Jedi to investigate they  _ always  _ come back empty handed.” Palpatine poured their drinks with remarkably steady hands- his age and frustration should have caused at least a small tremor. Anakin did not speak as he accepted the cup. Palpatine continued, “I mean all those years back— oh I’d forgotten  _ you  _ were on that mission- that  _ ridiculous  _ outreach to Mandalore— I must say the Neutral systems become more unreasonable by the day. But that’s another matter. No, but that whole ordeal, even then we trusted the Jedi to get to the bottom of it.” Anakin didn’t interject that  _ he  _ was also in charge of investigating, and so was a Separatist representative, so the Jedi didn’t take sole blame. “They come back empty and  _ now _ — Well now there’s word of the  _ exact same  _ arms dealing happening right here! Right here on Coruscant all because the Jedi  _ never _ followed through in the first place!”

Anakin swallowed, rocking forward in his seat. It was probably the only time he’d ever really taken an  _ active  _ interest in a word out of the old man’s mouth. “There are weapons smugglers here on Coruscant?”

Palpatine smiled his sour smile, “Well my boy there’s  _ always _ been some amount of smuggling in the lower levels— impossible to fight corruption  _ everywhere _ . But yes there’s some new operation very likely connected with the same thugs that manipulated Mandalore and other Outer Rim planets. And all because the Jedi are so focused on becoming generals, not peacekeepers.”

Anakin was spared from reacting to that blatantly false sentiment, too distracted. If it were the same— was he really here? Would he really dare come not only to the Core worlds but to  _ Coruscant _ , flaunt himself right under the Republic’s nose? Anakin almost laughed- of course he would. 

Palpatine was still talking. “…hardly warrants being upset that so many of them are gone. One might even think  _ good riddance _ .”

“Right- of course sir,” Anakin echoed absently, looking at the amber droplets left in the floral indents of his cup. He pressed his thumb along the decorations. “Well I’m sure the Jedi will get to the bottom of it. They always do.”

The man looked at Anakin like they were having two very different conversations. Bitterly, Anakin heard him sigh “Yes. There’s not a thing that escapes them.”

-

Of course Anakin had been to other parts of Coruscant. Even with Padmé and his Senatorial acquaintances, and reporting to the Jedi, he preferred branching out of the Elite sectors. He couldn’t stand to spend all his time there, not when  _ real  _ life existed everywhere else. The diners and seedy clubs that amazingly, his men were the ones to tell him about. So he wasn’t wandering around blindly- besides his childhood on Tatooine taught him that was  _ never  _ advisable, even on the capital city planet. 

Little to go off of: just the Chancellor’s complaint, little more than a hunch, that the smuggling ring was connected to Mandalore. 

No mention of pirates. No mention of Kenobi. It didn’t stop Anakin in the slightest. 

Not like he had anything else to occupy his time. He was wholly dedicated to finding answers in the form of a galactic pirate, answers woven into the linen of his shirt and the rough fabric of his coat. Answers illuminated by a spectral blue saber and similarly hued eyes. 

Leave from the GAR and his even indirect association with Core fashion were well suited to snooping around uncover. He wasn’t the shiny commander he was years ago. Older now, hair grown out, even free from wearing uniforms (a detail Padmé delighted in). In dark clothing, an uncomfortably revealing shirt, he blended in- an abundant crowd helped too. Jostled between bodies, he didn’t have to worry about standing out. He just needed-

a place at the bar. Gratefully, he bought a drink, downed it, and could see the steady movement of people and shifting prismatic lights. Somewhere someone was laughing shrilly, a man was trying to sell death sticks to an uninterested patron. Anakin stared at his second drink, sliding credits over the counter. He tried to think, process beyond the swirling club environment around him. That thrum that he felt in battles, that instinctual pull in his gut that somehow never proved him wrong. Swirling, burning, he felt the beginnings of it, like fingers on the back of his neck, sliding into his hair,  _ pressing _ weight against his skin, into his head. 

Anakin’s eyes snapped up- that shine of copper in a sea of blues and blacks. He’d been right— he almost choked on a burning sip at just the exultant confirmation. He was really here. Eyes tracked him through so many bodies, they did not part around him like his own men on Florrum. But he wove through them flawlessly anyway. The club widened out, Kenobi disappeared behind a pillar and Anakin was tempted to follow. His own crushing grip on the counter rooted him in place. He couldn’t go making a scene. A second passed, then two, three, he finished his drink. Ten seconds. Each ticked slowly. He could slide away from the bar, follow, find him again. Beg the pirate for answers (and certainly not anything else). Maybe drinking wasn’t a good idea. 

Just as he was going to leave, fingers - a real hand this time - slid along his back, gentling from one side to the other. Involuntarily, his breath hitched. The warm smell of spice hit him first, then the low caress of his voice “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you?” Anakin was too on edge to turn, but knew those lips could be only a hair away from his ear. 

Anakin swallowed. It did nothing. The lump in his throat and the heat in his face couldn’t just be willed away. “I was hoping you would, actually.” Hope seemed so small a word now. Relying on it. Craving it. 

“Oh? That eager to see me again?” The pirate’s hand dipped low, cresting over the small of his back ”I’m afraid you didn’t need to make it so complicated, Anakin.”

Force sake, he’d never heard his own name like that before. Kenobi had almost only ever called him Skywalker, or General. And when he’d let  _ Anakin  _ slip it was in a heat of panic, it wasn’t the curling, affectionate tease that graced him now. Something as simple as his first name shouldn’t do that, it shouldn't make him sweat. 

“We need to talk.”

“Just talk?”

“Yes.”

Kenobi’s hum said  _ pity _ but the hand on his back led them out. Earlier the crowd had been such an inconvenience, now they were nothing compared to the searing press of the pirate’s hand, even between a layer of clothing. 

“I’m impressed with how you found me, I must admit,” he finally saw Kenobi’s face, grinning of course, as he secluded them in an alley. It couldn’t have been shadier, huddled together in the dark of Coruscant’s low levels. GAR general and pirate, but that’s not what Anakin was really thinking about. Tracking the planes of Kenobi’s body, he couldn’t help but succumb to the unreality of it. Like his dreams, but of another kind. And they’d never been this close, not while Anakin was in a lucid, uninjured state. 

“You’re hardly discreet, coming here. Seems pretty reckless, even for a pirate.”

“Perhaps,” his hand traced over the folds of Anakin’s tunic, thumb crossing the open collar like it was the skin of ripe fruit- like Anakin was a prize to be devoured. “But for some reason I just couldn’t stay away.”

Kenobi looked at him with the same intensity he  _ always did _ . His weapon and his eyes were inseparable, with the same inexplicable burn, the same mystery Anakin hungered to know “You’ve tracked me down, you have my attention, so what do you need? What can  _ I  _ do for you, Anakin?”

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but in the moment they all failed him. Self consciousness waved through him, right arm itching where metal and flesh joined. “So what, I ruin your mission and you go back to smuggling?” Something within him ached with lost opportunities.

“Ruined?” Genuine puzzlement crept into his accent, “no you didn’t ruin anything. It did not go as planned, but… the desired outcome  _ was _ achieved.” His hesitation spoke volumes. They couldn’t discuss the details here. Anakin frowned. Kenobi’s hand still hovered right over his own sweat damp skin, very close to pulling open the fabric. So- it hadn’t all been for nothing? Why had no one told him on the ship, when he’d asked them to abandon him and let him rot for all the good he was worth. He couldn’t find his words, but the pirate filled the silence, shook him out of his own head by asking “I expect you’re treating Artoo well?”

The droid- really? Of course the little astromech hardly left his apartment, since Anakin had no missions to take him on. The little guy’s supposed sense of adventure was wasted on him. 

“Kenobi-“

“Oh surely we’re past that.” Outside their secluded alley, speeders zipped by, music still thumped in clubs and bars, Coruscant aflame with nightlife. Here in the dim, low light Anakin could see the glint of Kenobi’s teeth. His hand did indeed curl into the black fabric of his shirt; the rough pad of Kenobi’s thumb ran the length of his chest. A shudder ran through him, anchored only by hanging onto his next words “You can call me Obi-Wan.”

_ Obi-Wan _ . A name long lost to the history of the Jedi and Sith, to echoes of a man basically dead, heard only in myths very different than those surrounding the pirate Negotiator.  _ Obi-Wan _ , like they were friends, like Anakin wasn’t supposed to make a promise to the Supreme Chancellor of all people to kill him. 

Kenobi- no,  _ Obi-Wan _ leaned in, his breath a ghost over Anakin’s skin just as he sighed out the name, tasting it, learning it. The pirate hummed, a feeling reverberating in all the places they touched, pulsing to the core of Anakin’s being, something deeper than heart, brain or blood. 

He wanted it, to know what it was like to crumble under his touch and burn from the friction of his lips, his gaze, even the raw skin Anakin imagined his beard would leave behind.

“No- no wait—“ Anakin gasped out, forcing a hand between them. “I lost my  _ fucking  _ arm over all of that, I don’t get to serve the Republic anymore, and you just  _ didn’t tell me _ ?”

Anakin was furious, but  _ Obi-Wan _ was the one who looked hurt. Well  _ Anakin _ was the one who lost a limb and a purpose so Kenobi could get over the fact he wasn’t swooning at his feet— “This isn’t-“ for a moment words failed even the great charismatic pirate. “This isn’t just about you, Anakin. Or me, or the Republic!” And how many times has he been reminded of  _ that _ so far? It was about more than them, which is why everyone else got to let him take the fall. Flashes of Quinlan Vos and Ventress and Dooku and even Padmé, Kenobi, all of them who  _ knew  _ more and were part of something bigger without losing so much. Without losing their homes, everything they’d ever had so many times over. 

“Don’t you see that this might be better?” Kenobi’s hand fisted his shirt, eyes glowing with desperation. His voice ached with something unnameable. “You don’t have to follow orders. What do  _ you  _ want? What do you  _ really  _ want?”

“I-“ Anakin didn’t know what to say. Part of him burned, he wanted to  _ know _ , but he didn’t even know what. He wanted to know what this feeling inside of him always was, he wanted to know what to do, he wanted to know what was wrong with the galaxy and why nothing he did seemed to matter. He wanted to help, and it didn’t matter if he was called a hero. He just wanted to be  _ good _ . He wanted to be what he never thought was possible growing up on Tatooine. He wanted to be woven of the same legends, glitter with the same stardust of unreality and power and  _ meaning  _ that he felt always itching in his fingertips. That full, overwhelming urge that when he was here, around Obi-Wan, it was like they were one melded thing of push and pull, of growing, fueling flame. 

“Do you remember what I said on Naboo?”

Anakin paused, his voice soft and unsure. “Which part?” 

Obi-Wan so gently smiled. Anakin did not know when his hand had slipped up to his face, but the pirate’s knuckles brushed his cheek, “the part about coming with me. My offer still stands.”

A dripping warmth settled in his bones, heat high on his cheeks. A little enough thing but if he had drank more, or had anything less than a durasteel grip on the last shred of his pride, then he would have been trembling under Obi-Wan’s caress. 

“Don’t answer me now. You have so much to think about— Perhaps spend time with the Jedi, I find they can be rather enlightening.” Anakin swallowed a whimper when Obi-Wan pulled away. How long had he been holding his breath? It came gasping out of him, and that crystal gaze tracked the heaving of his chest, the pulse in his throat. “I do so look forward to next we meet, Anakin Skywalker.” 

If he went back to his apartment and fell to his bed with that new name across his lips, that was his own business. If Anakin thought about the way saber calloused fingers would feel  _ really  _ touching him, digging into his hair, into his hips, pushing his legs open- where his own hand paled in comparison- only fitting he had his own secrets. But he could wish it was more, panting into his sheets and every fiber of him crying out  _ Obi-Wan _ . There was that now-familiar tug in his gut, an explosion behind his eyes as brilliant as both Tatooine’s suns when he came, thinking only of him. 


	9. Discoveries on Coruscant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapters in as many days? don’t get used to it

Obi-Wan was his secret. 

He told no one. 

What a detail that would be, what a glorious discovery for all the Senators growing more worried by the day as reports swam in of _pirates_ in the capital. Those old stories, so funny to them in their youth now proved real. There was no such thing, they once scoffed, and if there was then pirates were just their thugs and villains. But now they were _very real_ thugs and villains, sneaking their way so neatly into the criminal Core, to the crevices and lower levels as permanent as the shadows. But cast them in the light and oh how they shone. 

Oh how Kenobi, the _Negotiator_ swept the galaxy. He grew, their perfect monster, the villain of growing insurgence. On every planet where the people rebelled, where slaves finally fought back against Republic, Neutral, and Separatist leadership all the same, there was a ripple of his name. There was not the proof there once was, collected by Anakin: lightsaber slashes and glimpses of blue eyes and a blazing insignia on the side of a ship bearing his name. Now he could still thrive without making an appearance. The idea and the truth of him were enough. Tendrils of influence unfurled, feeding fires without bias for _who_ or _where_ \- only caring _what_ . And the great _what_ and _why_ were Freedom. Hope. Those words followed him like his constant companions. The Negotiator brought them Hope. 

So Anakin said nothing when he knew his real name. He did not go to the Chancellor, his dear old supreme ruler of the Republic and declare “Obi-Wan Kenobi is the pirate Negotiator.”

He did not even say it in the private whispers of Padmé’s bedroom where he once laid all his thoughts bare. 

Instead he turned to the Jedi Temple. 

A Jedi he obviously was not, but thinking fondly of Master Plo and their time working together when he was younger— and thinking too of Palpatine’s unsubtle antagonism of the Order — Anakin found himself wandering to the impressive ziggurat. 

“Skyguy?”

Well he didn’t exactly know where he was going, wandering about the massive structure, an intruder. No wonder someone would have seen and stopped him eventually. Anakin turned to see the Togruta Padawan, expecting confusion or insult but her face just lit up. “Ahsoka-“

“You know you’re really not supposed to just walk in here. And who’s your friend?” And there was her spirit. He barely knew her but there was something so refreshing about it. It’d been unbearable on Vanqor, but now— at least she wasn’t walking on eggshells like everyone else. 

“I know,” he cringed, glad to be caught by her and not someone like Master Windu. “I just-“ he couldn’t say that Obi-Wan advised him to come here. “I was curious. And this is Artoo— he was a gift.” The astrodroid chirped, rolling next to him. His domed head spun like he was showing off to the Jedi. 

She waved a hand, telling them to stick with her. “Right- pretty smart way of sticking it to the Senate, becoming a Jedi now that the GAR’s dumped you.” She teased and it was almost like he could feel her glowing excitement to be with him. And whatever happened to not being star struck by Anakin Skywalker, Hero with no Fear? 

He knew she meant it lightly- even appreciated her way of talking about it rather than giving him pity - but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a burn there. The deep, festering wound of feeling useless. 

“Hey-“ she paused. Standing in the great hall of the Temple, surrounded by massive columns and rich colors, ceiling so high above them, Anakin felt tiny and insignificant. The whites of her brows curved in concern, but she didn’t roll out placating sympathies like everyone else did. She didn’t say _oh it gets better_ or anything like that. Ahsoka nodded and spoke in a kind voice, wise beyond her years. “Your men miss you.”

Even if he wasn’t allowed in action, there was nothing stopping Anakin from going to the GAR hangars, seeking his troop out. Well, nothing in the rules stopped him. The pain of seeing them and knowing he couldn’t be with them held him back. He’d definitely thought about it, and missed the consistency and reliability of having Rex at this side. He hated the way he wondered if that was how Obi-Wan felt about his own men, Cody and Waxer, maybe even (for reasons Anakin would never understand) Ventress. Was that same bond there? 

He let her words wash over him, then he smiled, snorted and elbowed her. They started walking again, aimlessly. “Right, so I gotta know all about what you do here if I’m to catch up on all my Jedi training.”

She elbowed him right back before beginning a tirade of Jedi history, and what it was _really_ like to train and study— not that he’d understand anything about the type of patience it required. 

With her everything clicked. She was only just younger than he was when the war started, so really she was close in age to him even now. He’d never thought it about himself before, but looking at her and listening to her, Anakin knew she deserved a galaxy where she didn’t have to fight. 

“Obviously we’re not the _only_ Force users. But we seek balance, following the Light of the Force. We’re peacekeepers- or at least, we’re supposed to be.”

“Uh huh— and other Force users, how do they learn when they don’t have teachers or an Order?”

Ahsoka shrugged. She’d led them out to one of the balcony gardens. Life hummed here so vibrantly Anakin could almost believe they were on a different planet, very far from Coruscant’s endless cityscape. “How they learn isn’t always the same-“ she paused. It couldn’t have been an easy topic. The Jedi kept certain parts of their history and customs to themselves, but it wasn’t hidden that some— well, some _defected._ Like Dooku. And that there were others in the galaxy who just were never in the Order, and learned other aspects of the Force. Darker aspects, things less clear cut than what the Order sought. Like Ventress. Ahsoka’s eyes travelled from heavy, brushing branches of a gnarled tree up to Anakin’s face before she spoke again. “The Force is a part of everything. How we understand it, there’s no one way. Even in the Order, we have our rules, but that doesn’t make everything outside of them _wrong_ or bad. The Force is about— it’s about knowing yourself.”

Knowing himself. 

Much easier said than done. 

The first time, Anakin sat in the dark of his apartment, even the light felt distracting. He sat, crossed legs and closed eyes, breathing in, breathing out. He felt the whirlwind inside himself, and thought about how it must be everything— high tide waves of every sensation in the galaxy. He felt everything like a burn on his skin, constantly, superficially. Those are his own thoughts, itching to get out. So he expected a flood of light, the great explosion behind his eyes and awakening of feeling that wasn’t new to him anymore. Instead it came as a trickle. A drip from the stars right into his bones, small but seeping and spreading. 

A warmth like home. 

And so it began, and he spent every night trying to focus, and every day that he could visiting Ahsoka. Sometimes she went on missions, or has to train, but then he asked to watch her training and she was hesitant, again said it was unusual, but allowed it. He couldn’t remember the names for the Jedi forms, but he watched the glowing arc of her twin green lightsabers with fascination. Memorizing every detail of it, letting it sear into his brain. 

Slowly the drops turn from trickle to a stream, then to a steady flow. The inhale and exhale of the cosmos breathed through his own lungs. Anakin branched out, tried these meditations while doing other things. He tinkered on his arm without touching it, using a wave of his other hand to let the tools guide themselves. It’s not as efficient as his own flesh, but it works. He can at least reach out to the Force with the lights on, but still preferred the darkness. He preferred the feeling that he’s sitting among the stars, bringing the light in through himself. 

In this routine, he wondered if Ahsoka knew. Obi-Wan was right, the Jedi are enlightening. When he went back to his room every night and he fixed up his mech arm until it glittered with gold details and gold fingertips and terrifyingly real synthetic nerves and sensors, reaching out to a force inside him that he never knew but was always there, he no longer wondered what’s next. He knows. Not in detail, but knows at least they are _his_ decisions to make, _his_ instincts to follow. 

Holo reports titter and hum- he’d never cared for galactic news as much as he did now, tired of getting it second hand from the Chancellor or Padmé or when he was thrown into a conflict he’d never seen coming. Not only was he becoming worldly by connecting with the Force, but suddenly he was like a real citizen. For once, Anakin gave a shit about the whole scope of the galaxy. “Arto— thanks.” The droid brought his comm closer so Anakin could better hear the mumbling cadence of the reporter. 

“ _Yes, well for better or for worse the Hutt are feeling threatened. This may be the end of the family’s hold on Outer Rim space._ ” The astromech chirped, wanting attention, but Anakin was snapped out of his deep focus. “ _Continued insurgence in both the Republic and Separatist territory endangers the operations of many crime families. The Outer Rim especially has seen a rise in rebellions and protests. We hope to see the end of this soon, but for the moment these disruptions might push forward peace talks in the Senate._ _As always, reporting from beautiful Coruscant— Don’t worry if you missed last night’s opening of-“_

Anakin clicked the transmission off. Rebels in the Outer Rim, and Hutt space in particular. Tatooine of course rolled into his mind, it’s two excruciating sun and burning sands, but also the faces of everyone he’d known. A crowd herded together like bantha to watch their children shipped off. When Anakin, mentally exhausted, slipped into bed, he expected to dream of his mother. He used to in those first days taken from the desert he had known, forced into the GAR Academy. Back then he dreamt of memories, her voice with kind admonishments as he built droids and tried to pod race, and of course as he begged for stories. 

Instead—maybe because he was in tune with himself, or maybe because of his underlying desires he liked to pretend were weaker than they were— he dreamt of a city. 

A face he has not seen for years, since he made a fool of himself, but where this began so it may as well be what haunted him. 

The Duchess smoothed a furrow between her brows. Exhaustion lined her face and set it in a perpetual displeased frown. “I don’t know how long I can keep this up. If it continues to threaten the Republic then the Chancellor will eventually, _inevitably_ , launch an investigation that allows my neutrality, and very likely my rule, to be overthrown. I will not have my people dragged into war over such trivialities.”

Again Anakin was part of him, inhabiting the body that was not his but might as well have been. Kenobi’s voice is lower, but he feels it in his not-throat as his not-lips move. “Then what would it take for you to finally admit that you’re already a part of this, Satine?”

She sighed but it gave no relief. “I am trying in my own ways. When our friends in the Senate present the Petition of 2000 it will give me some time, it will shield the democracy of the Senate. Padmé has promised that all parties know and respect that the Neutral Systems _cannot_ be left out of these protections.”

He felt the curl of the pirate’s upper lip, a mild sneer “And when the democracy of the Senate is exposed as the farce that it is? He has built an Empire that is gnarled and spiteful. I do not want protections or pardons. I want it destroyed.”

The Duchess glared at him, but with very little heat. Exasperation, weariness and very begrudging acceptance melted the frustration of age old arguments. Mandalore sparkled cerulean under the synthetic bio dome. She fit so naturally in the metropolis, crystals of her headless hanging naturally, weightlessly. She was flawless and pristine, but a single crack may shatter her. Kenobi, is the opposite. He can weather any storm, he is fury and hurricane embodied. Though again Anakin pondered he could be a man fit for different things. In another lifetime he is a diplomat, in yet another maybe he stands at Satine’s side and Mandalore is _their_ Mandalore. 

Instead Kenobi basked like a bloodstain on the stone palace steps. Anakin remembered monsters of darkness, unfathomable creatures that spell doom. How they must look in the light. 

“He won’t wait much longer.” Satine stated, arms folded as she surveyed Sundari like it might vanish before her. 

Obi-Wan agreed “Neither will I.”

Artoo’s frantic beeping woke him. Anakin turned the light on with a flick of his wrist in the direction of the switch. The droid rolled forward, colliding with the side of Anakin’s bed, then rolled back and spun in a whirling, screaming circle. 

“ _Kark,_ Artoo would you just-“ Anakin lunged and got an arm around the trunk of the astromech. His chirps were nonsense binary that Anakin couldn’t make out. A wrench flew into his hand “Stop moving buddy-“ His hand found a jammed switch and he tried to pry at it. Not that Artoo made it easier, little head spinning as he rocked back and forth to get away. 

“Hey _you_ woke _me_ up, so let me get this—“ the switch gave with a worrying snap. Bless Kenobi and his wonderfully outdated droid with a personality to rival Ahsoka when she was in a mood. Anakin cringed but Artoo let out a whine, something in him clicked, and then a light on his dome showed a clear blue holo onto Anakin’s sheets. The projection flickered to life; a metal orb with a greater crater in it, like a moon or an asteroid. Words appear- jumbled, scrolling text that flashed by faster than he could read it “Wait, Artoo _slow down_ -“ Bold script halted, labeling the holo **Death Star: DS-1 Orbital Battle Station.** _Geonosis Project, Stalgasin hive operation— Republic sector Project Celestial Power._ And then it continued describing details. Funding from the Banking clan, the leading directors, supervision by ”Count Dooku, proxy Lord S.” 

Artoo replayed screens of information, slower this time, and all the while the great beast itself spun so innocently. So this was it. This was the weapon, and the plans he’d lost his arm over. 

Lost his respect for the Republic over. 

Outside, speeders crawled slowly through Coruscant’s labyrinthine surface, delving into its lower depths. A steady stream of cruisers lumbered off world and others came lazily back in. The wheels of the Republic turned, the galaxy always in motion. Everything in the deep, penetrating blue of early hours, the same shade as the holos. Anakin curled his knees up to his chest, and with the steady hum of Kenobi’s gifted droid, he pored over the details until blue turned to grey, then to gold as dawn became day. He’s read the report once through, then went through certain parts again, the details that are fuzzy to him: how such a weapon can exist, how it draws power and how it expels it. And with each factual phrase and statistic, there couples a description of (praise even! giving thanks to) the benefactors of the project. Dooku- unsurprising- thousands of notable Separatists, who lend funding through the Banking Clan under the promise of protection against the Republic. The mysterious Lord goes unmentioned for the rest of the report. 

Anakin stared at the rotating planet. Out his window a shoddy speeder zipping by roared, finally shaking him. The world is waking up. He’s awake now too. “Come on-“ Anakin rolled off his bed and slid quickly into clothing. Artoo sounded a confused alert and Anakin clicked to shut off the projection. “We’ve got someone to talk to.”

Artoo’s beeps became more urgent and he rolled around like he wasn’t going to come. _Who? Where?_ His binary beeped. Anakin didn’t have time to placate the droid though so, just like he did hours ago, he wrapped his arms around the trunk of Artoo’s body and hefted him out of the apartment. 

-

“Oh Anakin!” The Chancellor saw him before he had a chance to duck and hide. Artoo trailed at his side as he stalked the Senate building, the droid resigned to follow after Anakin forced him in a speeder. No escaping now. It was like Palpatine could smell blood, the way he found Anakin so early in the morning, of course _he_ was the one out of place in the Senate, not the Chancellor. Preoccupied with visiting Ahsoka, with his own concerns, it had been a week since he’d last spoken to the man. “I wondered if I might have a word, if you’ve the time to spare?” 

He couldn’t be avoided forever. As much as Anakin shook with a need to get away, he forced himself to nod. They walked slow and companionably through the hall, unfortunately in the general direction of the elevators that would undoubtedly bring them to Palpatine’s office. “Anakin, I’ve been so worried lately. I do not know if you’ve heard the stress _pirates and criminals_ have caused in the Outer systems but it is wreaking havoc here in the Senate. We- Republic and Separatist systems alike- want this resolved, but it’s impossible as fighting continues.” He heaved a great shuddering sigh before guiding them into a lift. They shot up the levels of the building with smooth grace. Artoo was curiously silent and Anakin noticed the creased look the Chancellor gave the droid. The type of look one has when they remember something unnerving but can’t place it. Or at the sight of something gruesome but fascinating. 

“And this whole thing has given my political opponents an opportunity. They think I don’t know but I hear _whispers_ ,” his creaky voice dropped with the word. Anakin managed to look at him, interest glossed over with faux concern. His attention egged Palpatine on with smarmy pride. “Whispers, Anakin. There is something of a coup in the makings. I would not go so far as to call them _traitors_ , but _misguided_ individuals, surely, who conspire to limit my authority— bond my hands in the Republic’s time of need! They call themselves the Delegation of 2000- very likely the very number of enemies I have right here in this building!” The elevator stuttered to a halt. They were not on the highest level, Palpatine’s office. They were still quite a few floors below. Anakin raised an eyebrow but before he could ask the Chancellor waved a hand “I am very caught between meetings at the moment, but couldn’t pass up a second of your time.”

They went back to walking the looping, concentric halls of the Senate building. The old man picked up, conspiratorially, confusingly close to Anakin’s ear “I only wondered, with all our mutual friends, if you had heard anything. As a General I know you are well above the petty maneuvering that plagues us here- but I know you _always_ have the safety of the Republic on your mind, though I hope you don’t spare too many worries for your oldest friend.”

Anakin didn’t spare a single worry at all — not a single shit given— for Palpatine in his recent memory. The Republic, or the galaxy rather, those were points of thought, but not the Chancellor specifically. Especially not, when he so curiously asked after this matter the morning after Anakin dreamt of it. He heard _Petition of 2000_ in Satine’s sharp, unforgiving tone. Hardly hours had passed, and it had been days since they’d last spoken but again it was like Palpatine had a nose for these things— like he knew exactly when to seek Anakin out to suck what he needed from him. 

“No,” Anakin shook his head, letting concern overrule his frustration. He could play the diplomatic game too- he’d had only the best teachers afterall. “I haven’t heard anything,” he added oh so innocently, “but I’ll come to you if I do.”

The Chancellor nodded “I’m relieved to have you at my side, Anakin.” His hand clapped down on Anakin’s shoulder, then he pulled away towards a closed door. “Now, say hello to dear Senator Amidala for me, will you?” Anakin swore the man winked before the door slid open and he noticed the Kaminoan Senator practically glowing in the dark of the office- a darkness that enveloped the Chancellor like an old companion before the door slid shut. 

“Alright Artoo-“ he grumbled half to himself, half to the droid. His face set with determination and for the first time since getting to the Senate, the little astromech beeped with excitement. 

When he slid the door open to Padmé’s office, his memories from years ago resurfaced. The first time he’d entered these now familiar quarters— maybe he should have stuck with that first instinct to distrust Palpatine and confide in Padmé. He’d been closer to the truth then, and only now was crawling back to it. 

The Chancellor left him feeling gross and hollow, but Padmé, her always glowing confidence was the fuel to his fire— even when she faltered at the sight of him, eyes sliding down to Artoo at his side. “Ani-“

She couldn’t even finish her own exclamation. Had they grown so distant in these past weeks that she could have missed such a reminder of her past, bonds strong as durasteel that tied her to her home, the Outer Rim, and the stories of it? She could deny and suppress all she liked, but there Anakin and R2D2 stood in front of her door- the three of them alone. It was not so much a confrontation as a realization. She felt a light of clarity she only ever felt with him. 

When he left for Vanqor, already on edge from the nightmares they didn’t discuss, she was of course worried. And when he didn’t return and there was no word of him, her concern grew. But Anakin was _always_ a nagging concern in the back of her brain. His job, his recklessness, well they didn’t lend themselves to calm reassurance that he’d always be fine. They were pains she could not soothe away, not matter how she tried. Padmé wasn’t some lovelorn fool- Anakin was just always there. She learned better from him than from the Senate what the state of the galaxy was. He helped her realize how naive she’d been. As Queen on Naboo, she’d at least seen her people- celebrated and suffered with them at the very least, even if she had less diplomatic authority to help them. Now the Senate removed her from her home. Supposedly she had more power and influence to help, but when was the last time she’d seen what Naboo even needed? How could she serve her people when she was hardly one of them, pulled instead into the Core society and diplomacy and fake smiles?

Anakin anchored her, a reminder of what was really happening, the war that so distantly touched Coruscant. With each injury he sustained, each time he awoke from memories, not fictitious nightmares, Padmé grew all the more determined to end the war.

But more than that he reminded her of the shadows she had pushed down, buried under glitzing Core life, resurfacing around her with cosmic certainty. The rise of piracy in the Outer Rim spoke of days so long gone, bedtime stories to scare her sister with, or the type of hero adventures she used to giggle over with her handmaidens. Anakin came sweeping in made of the same darkness, the same magnetic intrigue. She saw in him a power even he didn’t know, an unstoppable force that would shake the foundations of everything. 

She remembered just as he did when at sixteen, just a Commander, he’d stormed into this same office and feared Palpatine led a conspiracy against the Jedi. Wasn’t the Chancellor now like a father to him, a mentor to them both? But Padmé knew her own insurrections against that loyalty, she knew if Anakin were to again press to her in a hushed tone “ _There is something going on- I don’t trust him-_ “ she would only sigh “ _I know._ ”

But of all the things to awaken that, it was the droid. A certainty the past would not be forgotten. 

Anakin’s voice was as even yet unpredictable as a black ocean. “I need to know about the man you gave this droid to. He’s carrying the plans for a weapon that will destroy the galaxy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to spoil my own fic but they uh 🥵🤫 next chapter


	10. Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

“His name is Obi-Wan—“

Anakin sat in front of her, on the opposite side of her desk. All the diplomacy and Senatorial politeness drained out. This was just Padmé, and he was just Anakin. And just Artoo chirped happily, rolling through her office with unstoppered curiosity. 

“Yes I know that. I know his name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and that he’s the pirate, the Negotiator. I know he killed Wat Tambor all those years ago, I know he’s dealing weapons through Mandalore, I know he has a crew of clones and the assassin Asajj Ventress. I know he sometimes works with the Jedi, I know he has a lightsaber. I know he’s _not_ a Jedi. And I know you gave him _this_ droid, and I know I followed him to get _these_ plans-“ Artoo had rolled close enough that he could punch the button to display the holos again “from Dooku and lost my arm doing it.” Her wide eyes watched him. It was the only time he’d let anything slip about what happened. For a blink she looked at the hand that proved it all true. 

“What I don’t know,” Anakin implored, “is how you know him. I asked but— he won’t answer questions about his past.”

She looked instead at Artoo, “Then Ani, I don’t think I should be the one to tell you.”

He sat back, breathing sharp through his nose. He was so tired of this— a million excuses to always keep him in the dark. “Fine, then what about the Delegation of 2000? Because I’m afraid the Chancellor’s gotten wind of it and is ready to mark you all as traitors. That, and the little fact that kill orders aren’t beneath him.” His smile was cold and joyless.

“Anakin, what are you-“

“He told me to kill all pirates before I left. It was like he knew I’d find Kenobi, maybe not then, but eventually. And I guess he thought I’d follow him blindly too.” Anakin flexed black and gold fingers. Something bitter curled at the back of his tongue- what if he’d done it? Carried out the order and pressed his knife deep into that pirate’s neck and let him bleed. Even as he sat here with a boiling anger, he couldn’t do it. Even the name Kenobi felt odd on his lips, not when so much of him thrummed with the name Obi-Wan. But that was still his name, a truth spoken between _them_ , not to be shared with Padmé even if she already knew it. 

“Why don’t you just ask _him_ -“

“And be told no again?” Anakin scoffed. Artoo clicked the projection off. “Besides, he’s on Mandalore anyway.”

She didn’t ask how he knew. Padmé knew to trust his instincts, his unexplainable thoughts generally proven right in the end. Crossing her arms, she sighed her acceptance, “The Delegation is a collection of Senators who are proposing a petition to prevent the Chancellor from seizing more power. It’s to protect the Senate and keep Palpatine- or whoever happens to hold the position in the future- from overruling the majority. It was proposed to me by Bail… he asked me— I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this, Anakin.”

“Why? Have you done something wrong that needs to be hidden?” And the deeper question, begging to be said, _Don’t you trust me?_

“No, Ani— I thought- _we were worried_ — Isn’t he like a father to you? I didn’t want to make you choose, I didn’t want to force you to be a part of this.”

“I already am, Padmé.” 

“Yes, I realize that now.”

All his rage and all her hesitation simmered out. Kenobi loomed in both of their minds. Anakin said he was on Mandalore- that was all a side to it she genuinely knew very little about. Piracy, smuggling. There were parts, everyone with their role to play. Hers was the Diplomat, the Senator, loyal to the Republic til her dying breath. Anakin’s role she didn’t know. But to anyone even mildly, barely, _tangentially_ involved in this whole mess, it was obvious Kenobi fixated on him. And from what she understood, he did not let things go easily, if at all. 

“It involves talking with Neutral systems… and Separatist. Old friends from before all of this— Satine Kryze, Rush Clovis, and many others. The idea of a Supreme Chancellor has become frightful all across the galaxy, and as these rebellions grow… I promise I don’t know what he does, I only know that he wants it all torn down.”

They did not need to say his name, it repeated endlessly in Anakin’s thoughts anyway. _Obi-Wan_. Always there. “And what about your plans for the Republic? And those of the rest of the Senators?”

“It’s a means to an end,” she sighed. “I cannot condone everything he does- I don’t even _know_ the full scope of it. And _this_ -“ she motioned to Artoo, to the Death Star plans stored so securely inside him. “I didn’t know about any of it.” She still would not really look at his arm. Anakin flicked the holos back into view. After letting her view them, slowly, thoroughly, she sat back and Artoo beeped. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I believe,” Anakin broached, “ _you_ were meant to see them. He didn’t tell me that he gave me the plans, I think I was just supposed to be a messenger, so you and the Delegation can make more informed decisions.” He shrugged an _or something._ Because what if Padmé wasn’t the target, but the Jedi were? But then Vos could have easily carried that out, not him. Things were still hazy. He was tired of being a pawn, but at least he was getting closer to knowing what he was a pawn _for_ . Not just Republic greed, territorial expansion and conquering during a time of war- but _hopefully_ edging towards freedom. Genuine freedom, not just the phantom guise of it, for the whole galaxy. 

“So what comes next?” She asked. 

“Now, I have to find him again.”

“And do what?”

He thought of his time with the GAR, giving him a purpose for so long. Not always a purpose so much as a distraction, a way for him to not think about whether he was really doing good. Trusting the system, trusting the Republic. With still no word of being let back on duty- and he didn’t even want it anymore- what he did was up to him. And now, now he had something _deeper_ anyway. Still the birth of the cosmos lived under his skin. Even if he could connect to the Force there was no shaking the almost overwhelming pull in his gut at all hours, a burning feeling of _more_. It pushed and pulled at his emotions, amping everything up until he almost couldn’t bear it. 

Anakin finally answered. “Anything.”

-

Anakin did not dream of Kenobi again, but he knew he was still off on Mandalore. 

He fell back into a routine: visiting Ahsoka at the Temple, sharing details of the Death Star plans with Padmé, and spending nights learning the Force like it was nothing more than a parlor trick. He knew that the Force was meant for more than this, for more than just floating things around, but he was grasping at air- he didn’t know how to not so blatantly ask Ahsoka “ _Yeah but what_ more _. What about this feeling in me? What about that, how does the Force help- what does it mean?_ ”

And he couldn’t ask any of the other Jedi— that would without a doubt _only_ be worse. 

After a week, he went to the lower levels again, where Kenobi had cornered him and breathed hot against his skin and desperately asked _What do_ you _want?_

Anakin didn’t entirely expect to see him, but _not_ finding him left him cold and empty. It was worse than the urgency with which he’d searched for the pirate for years. He felt alive with a need to see him again, burning up all his attention. 

Halfway through the second week and this _need_ is boiling over into everything. He couldn’t focus, his apartment a mess of tools and droid parts and Artoo never stopped beeping complaints. Yeah the droid was right but Anakin couldn’t take it, not when all his thoughts are a volcano under his skin. Shouldn’t he be at peace? Shouldn’t his attempts at Jedi meditation have given him that famous Jedi calm? He doesn’t see a single sign of his own jumpy, jittery constant nervousness in anyone else, just him. 

Not bothering with the Senate building, not wanting to run into the Chancellor again, Anakin headed to Padmé’s apartment instead. “Look I just need you to take him for a day-“

“Anakin I can’t babysit your _droid_.”

Pressing the heels of his palms over his eyes, Anakin groaned, “Please I just-“ _let things slip, am unexplainably pissed, obsessed with a pirate, and let my apartment fill with junk_. All of those could have finished his sentence. “Shouldn’t you spend some time with him anyway? I mean, go over things, show them to Bail, people you trust.” It was a pathetic excuse. But he needed his space to be his own until either he achieved that seemingly unreachable calm or he exploded. Artoo has really grown on him but he was used to being alone, used to being able to run back to a place that was just his. For a day at least, maybe not too much longer, that’s all he needed. 

“Alright,” Padmé, the most wonderful person he’d ever met, reluctantly agreed. He could kiss her if every part of him weren’t electric with preoccupations of someone else. Gratitude and thanks overflowed, but she gave him a look that said, in a long suffering way, _you need to get out more, Ani_. 

Just knowing that when he got back to his junked apartment there wouldn’t be an entirely justified and angry droid beeping at him made Anakin breath easier, walking back to the landing pad. As the speeder’s engine turned over, he decided against going straight back though, and found himself cruising along parts of Coruscant less explored to him. 

When he’d first arrived, the glittering city he now called him was daunting— he wanted to see and know it all. He knew that was impossible now, and that juvenile excitement didn’t last long. War tired him. He saw the Elite, the Senate sector and everything required of him for duty, and had nights out with his men. But as for the usual things that would fill the lives of a _normal_ citizen, those pleasantries eluded him. Maybe that’s what he should have been doing with his leave, instead of digging up Kenobi’s conspiracy and pushing himself to the edge with a relentless, self-induced Force training routine. Normal things. So he could pretend he’d had a normal childhood and not been forced into a war, taken from his home. He didn’t even want to be bothered by it! It was just his life, a series of inconveniences and secrets and complications. It wasn’t worth thinking about- if he wasted his time getting upset over every little detail then he’d never be able to do anything. 

Still, he set his speeder down not by his apartment, but in Monument Plaza. He knew, from Ahsoka’s explanations, that the Temple was a fulcrum of the Force and energy for the planet and the galaxy. Some part of him believed this was the same, setting foot here for the first time. The only real earth of the city planet was there in the center, the exposed mountain peak, and Anakin felt a shiver that if the Temple was a center for energy, this was a center for life. The difference was in _people_ , in the sentients that crowded and weaved, that touched earth and laughed and milled around visiting shops and restaurants. It was _real_ , and Anakin felt the bone deep thrum of it as fresh and vibrant as the air on Naboo. Now his lungs filled with air that wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t even matter. It was the existence of everything, this was what was worth fighting for. 

Under his hand dirt crumbled and he moved it from his flesh to metal sensors. He could detect every grain of it. Why had he never come here before? Distracted by duty, no one there to tell him to enjoy himself in all his time planetside. 

He thought nothing of the ebb and flow of bodies around him. Cherished it even- the carelessness of an elbow into his side, a child getting too excited and running into his leg— it wasn’t the skittishness of civilians terrified to touch a general, or any of the other unwelcome touches that colored his life. It was natural and simple. He was nobody among all of them. A single drop in a sea. 

He also thought nothing—did not even notice, so focused on his own breathing, the closest he had ever felt to calm in his entire life— of the figure drawn close to his right side. Anakin didn’t notice that the pull he felt under his skin was _not_ the pull of the whole universe but a very familiar nagging feeling- one he had not expected but if he weren’t so distracted trying to be a part of the galaxy he would have recognized it in an instant. 

Obi-Wan. 

“Did you _really_ abandon my droid?”

Anakin whirled, “Ob-“

“We need to talk.” He echoed Anakin’s request from last time, with the very heavily implied _privately_. The pirate’s hand traced along the metal of Anakin’s wrist- his face barely visible from beneath a drawn hood. Very bold and entirely reckless of him to come into the thriving, bubbling Coruscant city center in broad daylight like this— but he did it to find _Anakin._

Anakin made a vague motion to where he parked his speeder “I have an apartment-“

He could see enough to know Obi-Wan was smiling, “I’m afraid I do still have _errands_ to run-“

“Tonight then?” Anakin practically begged, hated the near whine of his voice. _What do you really want?_ And maybe he’d found the answer he didn’t want to voice but still craved with a sharper addiction than anything. His feelings - because they are certainly _his_ feelings and not echoes of the galaxy living in his veins, but his own individualism, his own fire - burn right at the very top, right in his eyes and itch in his fingertips and down to his toes. They burn with roiling magma and a volatility he cannot stomach, more penetrating than Tatooine sand and more shattering than Kaminoan storms. And somehow, _somehow_ , every aspect of those extreme ties are brought into full violent effect around Obi-Wan. Anakin couldn’t figure if he was a catalyst or a balm. 

That was the first question to roll off his tongue when in the dark of Coruscant’s dampening night sky, Kenobi came to him. 

So long with Anakin chasing him, searching for him, and now the pirate sought him out. 

“Why can I feel this—“ he hurled like an accusation at Obi-Wan’s stony surprise. Anakin’s apartment was an isolated cave around them, dim and devoid. “I’ve _tried_. I’ve tried to understand it but every time it’s too much.” Like every part of him was going to come spilling out. Obi-Wan asked what he wanted and Anakin _knew_ but this feeling of _too much_ was always there and not letting him enjoy things, or let go. He _wanted_ so much. He wanted Kenobi to close the space between them, to not lounge so casually and naturally on Anakin’s couch, and if not fix the nebula inside him then claim it as his own. 

“Why does it _feel_ like this- whenever you’re— I can’t take it-“

“No one experiences the Force the way you do, Anakin.” At first he thought Kenobi reached out to him, but then Anakin registered it as a phantom touch. Something inside him, mind and soul, and he shook with the impact of it. A wave of something calming hit him but it was too new, too invasive. “You’re a— Are you a _Sith_ ?” The idea of Dooku’s mysterious _Lord_ shot through him. The cryptic disappointment Dooku pointed at Kenobi.

The stories Ahsoka told him, of the horrors of very old Jedi and Galactic history, murder and rage and greed gone rampant. Sith was a word so new on his lips but he wielded it like the worst of Huttese insults. He didn’t even know who he was more angry with— Kenobi for using him or himself for believing him for a second, for buying into it with the nostalgic wish to see a pirate hero. 

A shiver ran down his spine, sitting there watching as time slowed down: Kenobi stood, unclipped the lightsaber at his side, exactly like his dream of Ryloth. He expected a crackling swoosh of the blade and still winced at the sensation- not the burn of the saber, but the cold press of the gilded hilt into his palms. 

“I may be a pirate, but _this_ is a thing I would never steal, that I would never desecrate.” Obi-Wan’s tone was as predictable as the ocean. Smooth yet stormy. “I am no Jedi, but I am no Sith either.”

Anakin breathed “But you were,” and stared at the way his own hand wrapped around the weapon, pressed in place by the pirate’s unyielding grip. 

“I was.” he admitted, something even in his voice sighed _finally_ at an honest word said between them. “But it was a very long time ago.”

Anakin swallowed, the skin of his thumb tracing the elegant gold filigree. Nothing like anything in the Temple. Over the top, dramatic and pristine and deadly, exactly like its owner. “So is that what this is? I know it’s the _Force_ — but everything inside me is so much _all the time_ and it’s like—“ His eyes snapped up to look at Kenobi “I dream about you. The things you’re doing, the places you’ve been. It’s everything- is the Force the reason why I can’t stop-“

Obi-Wan’s hand glided over his, stilling him, “It’s not just the Force that binds _us_ , Anakin.” It was certainly more than even the great cosmic, unifying Force that Anakin felt when Obi-Wan tilted his head up, the roughened pad of his thumb pulled lightly at his lip just before they collided. Anakin welcomed it like he was drowning, and maybe he was. Obi-Wan just as conquering, unrelenting, and soaking it in. It was nothing like his stolen, carefree moments with Padmé. It was passion so high strung that Anakin cried out at the first bite of lips to his skin. 

“Is that-“ _too much_ but Anakin gasped 

“ _No-_ you can do it again.”

Obi-Wan grinned with all of his teeth and his eyes shone with both all of the stars and all the dark matter between them. His gaze predatory yet his touch gentle as he guided Anakin’s legs apart, creating a space for his body. Anakin watched all the same as he kneeled, level, but his eyes shuttered at the heavenly press of lips to the curve of his neck. He _keened_ and arched into it. Padmé asked what he would do, and Kenobi asked what he wanted and the answer was the same. 

_Anything_. 

“Do you have any idea-“ oh _fuck_ the last thing he needed was the smooth lilt of Obi-Wan’s voice pressed into his skin “what a sight you were, when I first saw you?”

Anakin flushed, “What-?” 

No- _no_ he wasn’t supposed to pull back- “On Mandalore.” Kenobi stated. Anakin felt a hand slide proprietarily to the back of his neck. “You, chasing after me. I must say, you left quite an impression.” Obi-Wan licked into his mouth and Anakin had never let out such a desperate whine as he did then. 

His body felt awkward and superfluous, clinging to Obi-Wan, drawing them away from the couch to the sprawl of his bed. The most familiar, the most used part of his apartment, his home, and here he brought Kenobi so eagerly, anticipation vibrating through him. 

Obi-Wan grinned as he pushed Anakin back so he fell sprawling to the sheets. “May I give you a last chance, remind you that I’m a pirate? Aren’t you worried, dear one?”

Anakin’s voice came out hitched, “What- why would I be worried?” This was what he wanted more than anything, _Obi-Wan_ here, undoing the clasps of his shirt and letting it pool around him, tracking his every movement with the intensity of sea storms even Anakin had never seen. He wanted _this_ , Obi-Wan leering over him, fingers tapping and curling at the base of his throat, voice cooing

“Worried that I’ll ruin you, of course.”

Anakin was not one to beg, but he did for this man alone. 

“ _Please_ ”

Anakin was stripped bare in a hurry, hard, _aching_ from need pent up for so long, longer than just these moments. Maybe they’d both been waiting for this since Mandalore, the inevitable collision of everything they were. He tried to touch himself and get some kind of friction but Obi-Wan knocked his hand away. “Patience darling,” _Good things come in time_. He heard the words though neither of their mouths had moved. 

Then he felt it again, the tendrils of Obi-Wan reaching out to him in the Force, a warm caress at the core of his being. This time it didn’t make him shudder and fear but his legs spread to invite him in, physically, emotionally, every part of Anakin was his. The caress became a tide, the overwhelming rush of _him_ and nothing else. 

“ _Please_ ,” Anakin begged again. 

The focus and control of his hands surprised even him as he fisted fingers into the rough fabric of Obi-Wan’s shirt. Earthy linens that he could never forget, natural and imperfect as they both worked to remove every layer that separated them from laying skin to skin. 

The intoxicating weight of Obi-Wan leaning over him, hiking Anakin’s leg around his waist and the _not enough_ slide of their cocks. 

“Fuck- _fuck- wait—_ “ Anakin kept them together when Obi-Wan tried to pull away, concern marring the pirate’s always so intense face. No he didn’t want to stop he, just needed-

Anakin flipped onto his stomach and reached for a bottle he knew was there at his bedside. It earned him a glittering look from Obi-Wan, an amused raise of his brow that Anakin was so prepared- but also a heady sweep at the expanse of Anakin’s skin. Anakin didn’t know what explanation he wanted to give, the joking tease that his partners had been _adventurous_ or the greater truth that their last meeting left him aching and desperate. He said neither thing, distracted by the warmth and friction of Obi-Wan mouthing across his shoulder and down his spine- the rough scrape of his beard followed by each hot-wet kiss to golden, scarred skin. 

Handing the bottle over, even the brief twining of their fingers thrilled him. The snap of the sent an anticipatory shiver up his spine.

Anakin felt that first very promising press of slick fingers at his entrance- even more enticing for all the times his own hand had been there and his thoughts still filled with _Obi-Wan_. And here it was, the fantasy brought to life. The only noise in the room was Anakin’s gasp, caught in his throat, turning into a whine when the prodding tease turned to a slow slide in. 

“You’re trembling, Anakin _._ ” It was just his forefinger and already his sweet, overwhelmed general was shaking. Obi-Wan was slow, Anakin was tight. He could hardly take it slower without just stopping altogether- which Anakin firmly believed would kill him. Being deprived of Obi-Wan any longer, when already he ached, one finger not enough, the promise and press of a second easing into him still not there yet either. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes locked to the intoxicating in and out of his fingers into Anakin, he missed the signs of Anakin moving until steely determined hands grappled his shoulders and flipped them. Air left him in a woosh, Anakin straddled his hips with deft confidence. His face was split with a grin and Kenobi laughed, a noise torn out of him because Anakin, eyes glaring brilliantly, watched him as he resettled down on Obi-Wan’s fingers. Head tilting back, he fucked down on them _beautifully_. “Are you sure-“ Obi-Wan’s hand gripped his hip to guide and steady him. His hesitance, the fact that he cared, it was too endearing but Anakin rolled his eyes “it’d be easier if-“ in his usual lilting tone, slightly superior, still making Anakin run hot. 

“Nonono-“ he moaned out, words felt like they failed him, if he could just press everything right into Obi-Wan’s head and heart that’d be perfect, “No I _need_ it need to feel you— you’re always-“ he squeezed his eyes shut at an intoxicating curl of fingers inside him. Sparks flew behind his eyes and when he stared at Obi-Wan again he practically glowed with the strength of the galaxy “You’re _always_ there in my head, I need you. I need to _feel_ you, take you, please, please Obi-Wan.”

The pirate—still with his own smugness, of course, unshakable even when Anakin had him pinned, more disheveled, completely undone—answered _yes_ with almost the same begging desperation.“ _Now_ ” he urged. 

Fingers sadly withdrew but Anakin grabbed the bottle of lube first with a winning, wolffish smile. In another time, another opportunity, Kenobi would wipe the smirk off him by shoving him down to the sheets but instead _he_ was the one shocked- Anakin’s fingers curled perfectly around his cock. Each steady pump would make fucking into him easier, but got him closer to an edge reverberating in the Force, both of them high with pent up climaxes— but not there yet. 

It felt like there wasn’t enough time, Anakin wanted everything all at once- his natural impulse to take and tease and do too much, choke on the feeling of it. Wanted to take Obi-Wan in his mouth, but determined to seat himself on this pirate’s cock too- just as they both mutually, agreeably worked towards. 

Anakin settled his hips achingly slowly, getting used to the feeling while Obi-Wan marveled in the subtle tremors of him clenching, unclenching, _taking_. 

“How do you feel, darling?” Obi-Wan’s thumb rubbed slow circles into the crease of Anakin’s thigh. Anakin’s lungs burned, but it was an ache deeper within him, every part of him positively beaming with it. 

“ _Full—_ but so good-” he slurred. Twin moans dragged along into the air between them, a strung out cresting symphony as Anakin rose and fell in the stuttered start of a glacial pace. When he settled himself somehow _deeper_ , Obi-Wan’s groan punctuated the movement with something ripped out and fierce. 

“How long have you wanted this _Skywalker_?”

” _What?_ ”

Anakin, very aware of the steady pulse of Obi-Wan inside of him, was equally aware of how _naturally_ they fit and slid together, like everything finally clicked. Like the galaxy was a great grinding clockwork fit together for this moment, stretching around Obi-Wan’s cock. From Ryloth to Vanqor to _this_ — _Kenobi_ always in his head and now—

Obi-Wan fucked his hips up sharply, shaking him off balance, scrambling for support against his chest. The angle only sent waves of electric bliss through him, not even reaching his brain just straight to his leaking cock. 

“If you hadn’t been so _reckless_ ,” Obi-Wan hummed, musing, “so determined to undo all my plans, we would have met long ago, my dear.”

He took away Anakin’s chance to respond, sliding his hand back into that mess of rich golden curls and kissing bitten-red lips. Anakin moaned into it and Obi-Wan chased the noise, with a desperate tug of teeth at Anakin’s bottom lip and gasped open mouth. 

Anakin could only think that it was so much and it was divine. Obi-Wan could ruin him, he could do anything. Anakin would let him, even follow him to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. 

“ _Obi-Wan_ … I’m-“

“Yes, Anakin-“ Obi-Wan gripped his cock, weeping precome, stroked him off with awe. Anakin heard a breathed out _Force_ as it hit him. 

In his orgasm a cosmos was born, perfect and bright and blinding, his and Obi-Wan’s. Then the tumultuous tide of _Obi_ - _Wan’s_ answering climax he felt with every nerve and every echo. They were one, for each aftershock and rippling orgasmic bliss, Anakin riding it out slowly, and Obi-Wan guiding him with muddled praises and a hand in his hair. 

Outside, Coruscant stood dark yet speckled with lights and cruising vehicles, ugly and plain compared to the intimacy and warmth curled up in Anakin’s chest. He fell to his own bed, head spinning, unable to say anything. It was like the galaxy was new, and for once his thoughts were quiet. Nothing else mattered- the details of it were so far behind him. That this was _Kenobi_ , all the things he knew were wrong with the galaxy and the multitude still hidden away, not a single one of those thoughts could have crossed into his apartment, his room, and the bubble of the two of them. There was only this, a bubbling amused feeling that was maybe his, maybe Obi-Wan’s, and fingers carding sweat-damp hair from his face. 

His bed swallowed him, motivated by half-awake remembrance of someone moving around, cleaning him, settling at his side, pulling a thin sheet over his legs. Obi-Wan. Maybe he said it, maybe just thought it. At least he _knew_ he heard himself say “Don’t go.”

But did not hear an answer. 


	11. Age of Piracy

An empty bed, waking up thinking “Of course he’s gone— Why wouldn’t he be?” But he wasn’t. An empty, cold space would have been an unwelcome not-surprise. Instead the space under his hand was warm, rising and falling with the consistency only calm, sleepy breathing can have. So consistent, Anakin thought, that it could only be the regularity of someone so deeply settled in unconsciousness, a drifting into dreams as sure enough he might as well be alone, they might as well be on different planets entirely. But he wasn’t, and probably wouldn’t be ever again, not mentally or physically or in a whole manner of ways, and still always his own thoughts as overbearing company. 

“Your thoughts are very loud.” 

It’s teasing, the only words between them and proof they’re both awake. Hours ago, for the first time he could remember, Anakin’s mind was quiet. Now it is loud again, roiling thoughts rearing their head again, the name whispered this time is not _Obi-Wan_ but it is _Kenobi_ and that makes all the difference. His thoughts remind him of slaughter and weapons and the shadows that double over so he can not discover their truths. The pirate had been quiet but at least confident in breaking their silence, Anakin didn’t have that. 

“Why do you go to Mandalore?”

Ideas swim freely, unabashed before his eyes. Tatooine and the Hutts, what if Kenobi isn’t good at all? He cannot take lying there like lovers, like _friends_ — Anakin sat up, sheet pooling at his waist. In the gentle light of a morning too early to be doing or thinking about anything, Anakin Skywalker is a frazzled, golden god, lit in azure, with eyes that pierce Kenobi. But he wants to run away, seeing Obi-Wan watch him from his own bed and reply too casually

“Are you worried that you’ve slept with a black market dealer?”

And for a moment Anakin truly hates him. 

Kenobi continues, “You already knew I was a pirate, and I did _ask_.”

And Anakin had only begged _yes, ruin me._ His face flamed, thinking even of pirate stories and the _idea_ of him that was so irresistible, “It’s not the same.”

To this, Kenobi conceded, “Well, I’m hardly a good pirate anyway.” He said it with a smile half as toothy as usual, like he’s toning it down to coax a gentle, skittish animal. Perhaps that’s all Anakin really was anyway. “The weapons aren’t for me or the Republic, or for Separatists, or even for profit. They’re for the slaves, the rebellions.” Anakin felt like a reset button triggered in his brain, but Obi-Wan kept talking. “Neither side cares. They want power, the war is just a show between politicians. The reality of it, whoever wins, won’t change a thing for anyone in the Mid and Outer rim. Really, it won’t change life here either. The rich will still be rich, still profit off slave labor, spice deals, smuggling and everything else they use to keep this city shining. I don’t care who wins, but I will fight the Empire with every breath in me for what it’s done.” 

It was the most Anakin had ever heard him speak, and each word plucked at some thread inside him. A pirate with a cause, with _morals_ \- it was even better than roguish adventure and plundering and all the things that entertained him a decade ago. Yet still, a _pirate_ , still a mystery. 

“It’s a Republic, not an Empire.”

“A difference only in name. Surely you see it, Anakin. Think of everyone you couldn’t save. What happens to planets once you leave? Who stays behind to clean up the mess of war? Who gives people their peace back? There are thousands of planets united by catastrophe, abandoned by higher powers— I want to give them a chance.” 

“And what if- '' Anakin choked out, Obi-Wan’s hand reached out for his wrist. He didn’t pull away. The smallest bit of contact. Anakin trembled again. “What if all that destruction and horror isn’t the _casualty_ of the war- What if it’s the _point_?”

“Then I will still be here, until I die or the Empire does. Higher powers believe themselves to be inevitable, and they spend their time convincing us it’s true. The Republic will survive because it must. But it isn’t true. That’s why they’re so terrified of me, and of you. The galaxy adores you, their _hero,_ and if you show them the rot at its center, if revolution spreads across the galaxy… then I imagine they might notice.”

Anakin stared at his hand, feeling so uncomfortably close to tears. Everything was shaky and resting just under his skin. “Alright,” he swallowed. He thought of Padmé, and he thought of home. He thought of Obi-Wan’s men, and his own, thought of the Jedi too. Padmé fought for peace against a Senate that cared about profit. Men manufactured to fight and die for a Republic that saw them as weapons, but each one was his own man. What would they be when this was over- if it ever was? The Jedi turned into soldiers, Ahsoka, who deserved a family and not _this._ “So how can I help?”

Obi-Wan grinned, all dazzling and it set warmth alight through Anakin’s veins. _He_ looked overjoyed that Anakin was agreeing, when he thought it should have been the other way around, still not understanding why the pirate wanted him in the first place. _Their hero_ echoed through him. Obi-Wan saw him as the same legend that the galaxy saw _him_ as. To Kenobi’s pirate legacy there was Anakin, the brilliant GAR general. Both inspired hope to entirely different groups, but they laid together, twining the myths around them into the same fabric. 

Obi-Wan pulled him closer, out the startled, tense, sitting up posture. He felt shaky with his own question, echoing shocks that _yes_ he wanted this, wanted anything Kenobi offered him, wanted _help_ and do good and deserve the title the galaxy had given him. Obi-Wan pulled until Anakin laid back down against the mess of his own sheets, which felt very much like _their_ sheets, their bed. Their bubble inside of Coruscant. 

His beard rubbed against the curve of Anakin’s neck and collarbones, each kiss open and wanting against skin illuminated gold. Anakin could melt under the attention, under the confusing gentleness of Obi-Wan. He fought to reconcile the divide of the man he knew. Obi-Wan and Kenobi as separate entities, different yet entirely the same. A burst and crackle of electric blue in his memory, the impact of both eyes and saber, and uncontained energy. It burned uninhibited. It was both sides of him, the man Anakin begged to ruin him and the man whose throat he pressed a knife to, demanding answers. 

Obi-Wan’s — because in this moment he was _Obi-Wan,_ not the pirate Negotiator, but the phantom of another man Anakin itched to discover — teeth scraped his neck with the promise of something more. “Artoo isn’t here, is he?”

Anakin choked out a confused noise “No? He’s with Padmé— Why does _that_ matter?” Was he always going to mention the droid at the _strangest_ times?

A hand ran down his side in a smooth caress, each touch followed by heat under his skin, flush spreading down his chest. He’d already learned far more about the responsiveness of his own body under Obi-Wan’s hand then he’d ever have discovered otherwise. “Because I want to make sure I am the only one who will ever see you like this.” Echoes of something else, a desire to continue uninterrupted, a possessive need for Anakin to be his ripples through them both. Ebb and flow, resonance of the Force. 

Anakin moaned around the finger sliding into his mouth. He moaned because Obi-Wan held his jaw and _watched_ his index finger disappear between the delicate, enticing arch of Anakin’s lips. A mouth that would only ever moan his name. One finger became two and Anakin sucked. If he’d given into the feeling of it, let his eyes roll back, it would have deprived him of the wonderful view of Obi-Wan’s eyes blown dark with lust, fixating on the glistening slick of his fingers in Anakin’s mouth. 

Obi-Wan’s other hand reached down and pushed Anakin’s legs apart. They gasped simultaneously, Obi-Wan fit himself so perfectly in the space between Anakin’s thighs. Anakin wanted to jerk into his touch, slot their bodies perfectly together, but Obi-Wan kept them just far enough to deprive any friction. Just far enough to tease, to rip a keening whine from Anakin’s throat. Never in a thousand years could he have guessed how badly he needed this. 

Obi-Wan’s hand pulled reluctantly from Anakin’s lips, slipped between their bodies with sure determination. It wasn’t gentle but Anakin almost wanted it to hurt more as a finger slipped into him. His pleas from last night, _ruin me_ , _please_ , and the overwhelming need to take, the same thoughts stretched tight inside him with each desperate twitch of his untouched cock- Those words twisted and fought with the gentle way Obi-Wan said _hero_ , and something tangled and grey but good existed in each thread of their connection. Unfathomable, impenetrable Kenobi: even when they shared this, something baffling hid away. 

When a second finger shoved in, those thoughts scattered into the electricity of his nerves. No thinking, just this, just them. 

It was just the promise that Anakin would leave everything for this pirate, and Obi-Wan would lead him into the darkness of the galaxy with a biting grin and smooth voice and the rough tugging and curling of his hands. 

And Anakin would give into it every time. 

-

Obi-Wan, clearly unbothered by anything outside of this haven in Anakin’s bed, worked him through each orgasm slow and sweet and too perfect every time. Hours, days could have passed without the pirate caring a bit, so long as he could find a new way to get Anakin gasping and keening— Anakin, always too caught in his own head, didn’t have the same luxury. Coruscant bustled with its usual life, every other sentient in the galaxy immune to the lazy sedation of his apartment. Better than immune: ignorant. Anakin almost wished for the same. If this never happened then he would never know what to miss, what to crave so specifically, weave fantasies out of, build memories: a culminating moment to redefine who he was. 

To Obi-Wan, lazy, sated, rearing up only with the passion to consume, it must have been easy and perfect. But an insurmountable craving to _know_ plagued Anakin. To know this man, to know his own future and not delude himself with the intoxicating atmosphere of Kenobi. At least he finally understood the charm of him, the gravitational pull in his words and smile and confidence that solidified in his title, _Negotiator_ . Perfectly unassuming until digging into the implications, _manipulator_ , _charmer_ , someone who gets exactly what he wants and gives nothing in return, a master with a silver tongue. Anakin could swear by each and every detail of that. 

So it was Anakin who forced them to both get up, clean up a bit, eat something. He needed something to do with his hands other than explore every inch of Kenobi’s skin. Something that felt more productive, despite his wants. 

The smell of brewing caf filled his apartment. Anakin kept fiddling with anything in his reach, knowing if his hand gripped his mug any tighter it would shatter. He swapped it between flesh and metal, one feeling safer than the other but knowing his capabilities to break and crush weren’t limited to just one of his limbs. 

It didn’t matter if Anakin, hours before, had come apart on Obi-Wan’s cock, moaning his name and shaking and promising the pirate his life, the sight of Kenobi wandering around his space, looking at all the intimate details of his home, that felt much more brazen. Inviting Obi-Wan into his bed was one thing, but seeing the hand that had curled inside of him and pushed him to climax now running over the schematics of his mech arm made him feel a million more times exposed. Exposed wires, drawings of his synthetic nerve endings and prototype knuckle joints; Obi-Wan touched them reverently, not even moving them, just caressing. The both of them clad only in pants and it was all so casual, like Anakin wasn’t making an independent choice for just about the first time in his life. 

There was a shaky, clawing feeling in his throat, Anakin forced and swallowed it down with his first sip of way too hot caf. His voice came out too loud and he’d soon get a tension headache if the crease between his brows grew any more severe “I know I’m basically out of the GAR anyway, but if I just _actually_ leave-“ 

Kenobi watched him with that same calculated look, like he could see every part of Anakin and knew him intimately. It made goosebumps run down him. He _did_ know him intimately, that was the problem. They knew each other too well and not enough at the same time. “I don’t know what will happen to my men, and I can’t abandon them.” Even if he’d basically abandoned them anyway since he’d been on leave. It was months since he’d seen Rex. But to make it _official_ , to relinquish his responsibility for their well being, not knowing what would happen- it felt wrong. 

Obi-Wan shrugged, unbothered yet again. “So ask them what they want.”

Anakin’s eyes snapped to his with terrified certainty, begging “How do you do it? How did you leave the Jedi and have your men— the war hadn’t even started then—“

“I thought I told you: I stole them.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. Maybe his nausea was at the unshakeable feeling that there were things Kenobi still would not share. Hidden in his shadows, unwelcoming to Anakin despite all he gave in return. His whole life pressed urgently into this pirate’s willing hands but barely anything given in return. “ _Right-_ like we stole the plans which you told me about in a timely manner, in the same way Padmé won’t tell me anything about you, and the Delegation is a need to know basis too-“

“They fight _willingly_ .” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and it shut Anakin right up. But his look, so impassive, spoke neither of openness or a desire to appease Anakin’s curiosity. He could have been talking about the weather. Anakin concluded that was the worst thing about him. The dishonesty was bad enough, the secrets, but the _apathy_ in which he shared anything made him shake. “I don’t force them to do anything. They served under a horrible Jedi that used them as fodder. Now they can do what they want. It was their choice to join me and fight what’s happening in the galaxy.”

“And the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan shrugged again. “I killed him.” He waited expectantly. Their last conversation like this was the one on Naboo, where Anakin had no shortage of accusations to hurl, wading through the moral turmoil of Kenobi’s legend. A murderous pirate, ruthless, without mercy. “Then, since their general was dead, I told them I’d appreciate a crew. I treat them as equals and they are always free to leave. Extend the same to your men. Do you trust them?”

Anakin’s lip quirked involuntarily, the answer so obvious- he’s trusted his men explicitly for so many years. His only companions, and when they fought and ran into battle they were like one surging body. “Of course-“

“Then tell them anything you trust them to know. Let them choose who to fight for. There is a war, fighting cannot be avoided, but _purpose_ and faith in what is being fought for is crucial.”

Caf sat bitter on his tongue. He trusted his men to know everything, just about every dirty detail of this whole affair— but clearly Kenobi did not feel the same. Veiled honesty every step of the way. Anakin glared at the mug of caf like it was the offending thing, the bitterness was from _it_ and not from _Kenobi_ and his elusive refusal to give a straight answer. The bitterness from drink, not from walking into this knowing he was being deceived and agreeing anyway. His voice came out raw with another emotion, and he spoke without looking up, “There's something else too, that I need to do before I’ve officially resigned my post.”

“Any of the resources the Republic affords you will be available once you leave-“

“No it isn’t that.” Anakin shook his head. The Republic had hardly ever fared for him beyond his missions. Everything else he had, well those were connections because of the Senate- because of Padmé and the Chancellor, a sort of indirect connection to his actual position. Granted, all of that would be lost anyway. His left hand was trembling. In their conversation Obi-Wan crossed from the workbench to the kitchen, eyes imploring, taking in this nervous Anakin. “When I leave, I can’t do it halfway. I won’t be able to come back, won’t be able to pretend I’m not doing this for _you_ . So before I’ve declared myself a _pirate_ to the whole kriffing Republic-“ The Chancellor worsened the legacy of pirates everyday. Core planets dripped venom and hate for these rogues, spearheaded by Palpatine’s damning declarations of scandal and scoundrel. To leave the GAR, align himself so clearly with Kenobi, it would destroy his ability to skirt through the galaxy unnoticed. “I need to go to Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan nodded, face just as serious as Anakin’s. The word went unsaid, but it reverberated between them: _home_. “What do you need there?” This was the sentimentality that confused him, like the care he exhibited when Anakin’s arm was cut off. But Anakin did not have the venom in him to fight those details, not now. Not when his head was elsewhere. 

Where it all started for him, that desert planet that saw the freedom of birth turned to slavery with his first breath. Tatooine: the crown of Hutt space. Whenever he thought about it, Anakin could remember the hissing shut maw of the transport ship with shuddering clarity. His mother watching him get taken away, the tears and crying of every parent and child. The warmth of the sand, the cold silence of the ship. Things he could never forget, things that woke him shaking in his bed just as often as the thrilling dreams of Kenobi had. Deeply, etched into his bones, woven into his essence, Anakin could see the glimmers of his future. Presently, it meant telling everyone he knew. A farewell tour on Coruscant: inviting his men to fight for freedom, a goodbye to Padmé and Ahsoka- a bitter thought lingering on the periphery. Goodbyes that were necessary, kicking off his utter devotion to Kenobi, promises to fix the galaxy from the depths. But it would begin where it all started for him, the Hero With No Fear. On Tatooine, in bondage. It would be his first mark, his first flicker in the flame of rebellion, giving to his home what the mystic Jedi and pirates of his bedtime stories never could. 

Anakin’s eyes glimmered with a rage to match Kenobi’s ever present storm. They were, for a moment, the same wave of the same sea, the exact same cresting droplets of water surging, taking, destroying. In the Force they shone, exploded, restitched and hummed with unparalleled determination. Maybe it was there that Obi-Wan understood him, nodded with the sharing of a feeling and an anger beyond words. They did not speak it, but it was a promise. 

They would go to Tatooine and Anakin’s freedom would begin on the same sand where it was first taken from him. 

“I can have my ship ready tomorrow morning.” 

Anakin nodded. It gave him time. Coruscant was still hours away from dark, time to get to the Temple, and talk to his men, run errands that made up a very resolute checklist. It was almost ridiculous, to create this mental itinerary as a detail in what was, essentially, running away. How many times had he imagined the same thing as a child on the planet he’d now return to? How many times had he coaxed himself into sleep fantasizing of pirates coming to Tatooine, storming the Hutt palace and freeing everyone, slaughtering slavers and- then letting him join them, see the galaxy through the viewport of a stolen ship— Now it was exactly what was promised to him. Kenobi fulfilled that need always inside him. 

Anakin’s mug clattered back onto the counter a little louder than he meant to set it down. But everything inside him bubbled over with excitement. Bits of it must have crept onto his face from the indulgent way Obi-Wan watched him. “I’ve got to-“ he made a vague motion, “talk to Rex, and the others. And get Artoo!”

“Yes please, if he knows I‘ve left without him he’ll never let me hear the end of it.” 

Anakin smiled, “Does he really mean that much to you?”

Obi-Wan huffed, long suffering but still the corners of his eyes crinkled with undeniable amusement. “He’s just a _droid_ \- but he has been with me for a long time. I never intended to have a droid so really if you’d like to take him off my hands I’d be in your debt.”

Anakin hated how easily he caved to the ease between them. Every word could have set him off, instead he teased “What makes you think you won’t be in my debt anyway?” And the way Obi-Wan transitioned from humor to something snarky shouldn’t have sent a thrill down his spine. Anakin’s tease lost some of its initial bite as he added breathily ”I am your _hero_ after all.”

And _fuck_ the way Obi-Wan could knock his thoughts scattering like debris through the vacuum of space. All just with a brush of fingertips down his cheek, and words spoken low and almost too sincerely “You have no idea.”


	12. Trouble on Tatooine

“Sir, I can only say we’re glad to have you back, even if you’re leaving.”

Rex’s words sunk deep in Anakin's head. He’d ignored his men since Vanqor. It wasn’t fair to them, but a lot happened, he let himself get caught up and distracted. And they had their duty- but that was nothing more than an excuse he gave to justify it to himself. 

Arriving in the hangar felt brand new again, like the first time he’d stepped onto Coruscant years ago. New, but not shiny and impressive like it once was. It wasn’t the glistening promise of fighting and adventure, but the looming ships told him of the underbelly of the Republic, a war that was a front for something else. A monster of power and darkness: an understanding and Anakin teetered on the precipice. 

His men stirred a feeling deep in his gut, one of longing and belonging. They were his closest friends, his constant companions. The amount of his shit they put up with- Rex letting them get into reckless situations one after the other just to support Anakin, his General. Since they were first assigned together, Anakin remembered the awe and appreciation each time he called them by name, not number, the confusion but joy of each shiny when they’d roll out laughs and jeers and he didn’t reprimand them for being _people_. 

He couldn’t take that away from them, fling them into uncertainty and a duty-driven existence. They didn’t deserve that. 

Finding Rex was easy. His habits hadn’t changed even if Anakin wasn’t there to oversee them. 

But Fives found him first. He yelled _Skywalker_ but hesitated like he was _about_ to say _Skyguy_. 

Anakin felt horrible for not coming by, even to say hello in all this time. It only hit him, in seeing their each-similar but each-distinct faces that _they_ felt guilty too. Anakin didn’t intrude because he’d let _them_ down, failing on Vanqor, getting dismissed, everything that happened really. But Rex’s relief was palpable. Rex, Fives and Echo who were there and apparently, all this time, blamed themselves for what happened to him. 

The shock of that kept Anakin from enjoying the pleasantries. He’d already made them suffer, so to punish himself he poured salt in his own wounds. 

“I’m leaving the GAR. Leaving the Republic too. I have to do something first, but if any of you would like, I’d be honored to have you come with me.”

Which of course required more explaining. Huddled together in a private corner of the hangar, dim lights too far overhead to be effective, seated on plastisteel crates, each one watched him. It was intimate. He trusted they’d spread the word, so for this first rush of conspiracy and scandal, admitting everything, he only gathered his top men. And then all the truths— Kenobi, Dooku, the Death Star, the Delegation, the rebellion. And of course, Anakin’s plan to join Kenobi. 

“Wait sir- You’re asking if we want to…” Fives’ face twisted in confusion “be _pirates?”_

And for Force sake Anakin knew how ridiculous and naive it sounded. But he nodded, “Yes, and I _know_ it’s a lot but— Our duty is fighting for the Republic, because that’s what’s best for the galaxy, right? But I don’t think that anymore, really I don’t know if I ever did. I want to find out what’s best on my own and _apparently_ ,” he grinned sheepishly, “that means becoming a pirate.”

Fives sighed something exasperated in Mando’a. Anakin watched those words sink in, along with all the other flavorful details of corruption right under their noses this whole time. He did not mention the more personal aspects: the Force, _Obi-Wan_ — and maybe, for a moment, he understood how the pirate could keep so many secrets from even those he supposedly trusted. 

Anakin rushed out his next words, terrified of them instantly saying _no_ “I’ve got a mission off planet but then I’ll be back. So please, take time, think it over. Let everyone else know, I mean to extend this to all of you. I won’t be upset if you don’t leave the GAR, I understand what it means to you.” Because it was more than just the 501st. Every single battalion, the whole army was made of _them,_ made of their brothers. Anakin didn’t want to abandon the ones he knew, but for them, they were all connected, one family, no matter the colors they wore. “I just— you deserve to know these things, deserve to _choose_ what life you lead for yourself, not just because-“

They knew how the rest of that went. 

Not just because you’re a weapon made by the Republic. Not just because you’re bred and designed specifically for this. Not just because you’re engineered. Not just because someone told you to follow orders. 

“Because,” Anakin restarted, “we all deserve that freedom.”

Tatooine where it was first taken from him. 

Anakin clapped Rex on the shoulder in a clumsy recognition of the groups, hasty goodbye stumbled out. He would see them again, he would get his answer then. It’s not every day that someone comes to you raving of conspiracies and corruption and begging you to leave everything you’ve ever known.

And whatever their decision was, in the end he had to accept it. To force them to come with him was no different than the leash the Republic already tied. 

-

The Senate building loomed. Anakin rejoiced that this would be the last he ever set foot here. No more politics, no more smarmy smiles. He itches with the desire to have his blaster in his hand again, be back in the middle of a fight and know he wasn’t just a pawn for this building and all it represented. 

Just like the hangar, knowing his own departure colored the hallways differently. Their impersonality now stood starkly, the prosperity they promised soured and built up like debris, like he was walking through a battlefield and not a groomed Core corridor. 

For yet another time, for the _last_ time, he slid open the door to Padmé’s office. She met his gaze with a knowing look. A goodbye already floating between them, unspoken and sure. Artoo beeped and whirled circles into her carpet, Anakin put a placating hand on the droid's head. 

“When?” She asked. 

He did not want to sit down. He took in the surroundings of her office where he spent so much time, where they talked about all the important and trivial details of their lives, favorite foods and family and thoughts on ridiculous gossip Padmé was forced to deal with. “Tomorrow morning.” He answered. 

She nodded, eyes softening with an infinite love. It thrummed between them, a connection that would not be undermined by distance or by this change. He could leave and never see her again but would still love her, and she him. They’d too frequently found solace in one another’s arms to ever let that go. 

“Oh Ani-“ she sighed and his hand curled in a fist. 

“Don’t lecture me.” He snapped. Her face melted with sadness, and his hardened. Anakin added, “Please, don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

Padmé shook her head, the splay of her hair in a signature elaborate headpiece hardly moved, another part of her always resolute and so sure. She, so much smaller than him, so much kinder, was still so much more solid. Kenobi was his new rock to batter against and weather away, but Padmé was always there to take him, his rage and confusion and the overwhelming surges that made _him_ Anakin. She always caught him, soothed him best she could, and never lost herself in that. “I wasn’t going to lecture you. I only wish you the best. I only wish— that you weren’t in the middle of any of this.” 

He did not watch her stand from her desk, but felt the gentle touch of her fingers on his arm. She kissed his cheek, a light peck. “Do you trust him?”

Anakin asked himself that same question endlessly. Did he trust Kenobi? There was no telling, there would never be _any_ knowing or saying until it was too late. Until Kenobi either saved him or killed him. Anakin shrugged with the same aloof manner the pirate answered all questions with. “I suppose I always dreamed of this as a kid, and that’s what I wanted from the GAR- wanted to be a hero, the type I heard stories about. Maybe I do want to be a pirate, maybe I don’t. I’ve been leading men, going into fights and living on a ship for so long that I can’t imagine another life.” A half truth of his own. He’d always imagined another life, when he laid still with Padmé, when he thought of home and his mother, and the taste of it in his apartment with Obi-Wan. A taste of something secure and peaceful. Something just theirs without all these complications of corruption and darkness. “But I don’t want to fight forever, I can’t do it, Padmé. But doing _this-_ “ he took her hands in his. She did not flinch at the cold press of metal fingers; she even smiled. “This gives me an opportunity I can’t find anywhere else in the galaxy, a prize bigger than any GAR medals or Senate parties or even this title of _Hero_ and all Palpatine’s kriffing _obnoxious_ praise-“ They both grinned and laughed like teenagers sharing private gossip. Anakin’s excitement bubbled up again. The certainty of his future as a _pirate_ weaved through them, painted in the very stars. Padmé felt it just the same as he did, that even if he didn’t fully trust Kenobi or even if he did, that it didn’t matter because this was _Anakin’s_ future- it was his legend to shine a light on and dazzle the galaxy with. It was no more overbearing Senate or Council or Chancellor for him, just the endlessness of space, uninhibited fire of freedom. And that’s the word he said, that he gave a life to in the vibrating air between them. “This gives me freedom, for me and for the Republic. It’s what I need.” And that fact simply could not be argued with. 

He left Padmé’s office with Artoo back happily chirping at his side, making endless apologies that “Yeah I won’t leave you again, don’t worry about it.” At least Artoo’s beep gave him the warning he usually didn’t get: the alarm bells he desperately needed. Though, with smug satisfaction, Anakin reminded himself this is the last time this will ever happen. The last time he’ll be caught by Palpatine on his way through the Senate. The old man could kriffing choke for all he cared. 

“Anakin!” He buzzed out the ” _my dear boy”_ tacked onto the end in a mental eye roll strong enough to give him a tension headache. So _so_ close to being in the clear. Anakin again wondered if the old man and his sharp nose could smell blood. “Oh? Are you heading somewhere, Anakin?”

It feels innocent enough, so he states the truth (a half truth) “Yes, well while I’m still on leave I thought I would visit Tatooine for a little. I haven’t been home in so long and while I have the time…” he trailed with a shrug, trying to sound like a shy teenager excited to go see his mother. He was excited to see her, but was thrilled about more than that: rebellion, hopefully killing a Hutt or two.

“Oh- the great Outer Rim,” The Chancellor heaved a wistful sigh, “both of our homes, yes? I only wish I could tour Naboo as a youth again. I wish _you_ the best, though I hope those _horrible_ pirates haven’t made their way to your home-- What a disgusting intrusion they are- to ruin such a beautiful, homely planet with their presence.” Anakin coughed to cover his laugh, swallowing the bark that _clearly_ Palpatine had never seen the dust ball. What a sleemo. 

“Of course sir.” Then, to ham it up a little more, Anakin met him with his most dazzling parting grin, “I haven’t forgotten the request you made, as a friend. I look forward to that _noble mission_ when I’m returned to action.”

Predictably, the Chancellor, this peaceful leader of the Galactic Republic, smiled with a curl of lips that dropped conspiracy and slime “I knew I could always rely on you, General.”

-

Anakin’s hands itched with restlessness. Kenobi didn’t even let him fly the ship! He tried making lame excuses and Obi-Wan just stared blandly at him while setting the ship into hyper speed. “I understand you’re _nervous_ , Anakin, but I’m not letting you fly my ship.”

He sat uselessly in the copilot seat, which might as well not have been there for all the work he was doing. “I’m not nervous-“

“You’re shaking.” Artoo, the unhelpful traitor, chirped his agreement that Anakin looked horrible.

“Yeah well-“ Anakin sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “It’s just been a while.” Understatement of the century, but he felt like if he started explaining, he would just vomit up words the whole time. He felt that way the whole trip, and Obi-Wan gave up trying to have light conversations. All he got was Anakin’s factual report that “Padmé wasn’t surprised I was leaving, and I didn’t wait for my men to say anything. Ahsoka is on a mission so I didn’t get to say goodbye to her.” The last one hurt the most, not even given the opportunity to thank her for everything she’d indirectly taught him. He wanted to see her again, but already feared it might be over the top of her saber.

Tatooine’s great brown mass bloomed in front of them as the ship jerked and steadied into normal speed. His home, in all its unimpressive glory. A swirl of dirt and orange, exactly how it looked on the surface too. He remembered wanting to watch their departure from the Republic ship years ago, but all of them, captured children, were jostled into a room with no viewports. So the last he saw of it was really his mother, when he’d last stood on the surface and her hand was ripped from his. 

Republic occupation did not change Mos Eisley at all. There was not even a trooper or guard of any variety in sight. Just the same old lawless spaceport it always was and always will be. “I’ve got to get a transport to Mos Espa to check Watto’s”

Kenobi shrugged. That name meant nothing to him. “I have a contact here,” his hand waved to the Cantina and watching Anakin, he wrapped his usual fabric disguise around himself. A smart way to keep out sand that didn’t even occur to Anakin. “Just buy us a speeder. Meet back here when you’re done. Oh, and take Artoo. He’s always causing trouble in crowds.”

“It’ll be faster to just hitch with someone, and _without_ a droid-- What? can’t you buy a ride for yourself while I’m gone?”

Obi-Wan pressed a bundle into his hand, “Not my crowd to haggle with, dear, and I’d rather not make a scene.” 

Anakin stared at his fist as he turned for a transport shop. It was almost enough money to buy his own _ship_ , so way more than enough to just get a _cruiser_ . It was far more money than a pirate should ever have just floating around and _especially_ more than a reasonable person would ever flaunt in Mos Eisley of all places. He secured it with Artoo; the little droid moved over the sand far better than Anakin anticipated

At least it guaranteed that whatever Kenobi was up to, he wasn’t in it for the money.

But Anakin didn’t have the head to keep turning the pirate’s motives over, always going back to the niggling seed of distrust. He couldn’t think about it because after haggling for a speeder, he found Watto’s shop the same as it always was, just like most of the planet. But now he walked the streets a free man, not a slave. He didn’t have to cower in front of the ones who once owned him. 

Time had not been so kind to Watto, who croaked “What is it- What do you want?” From the back of his store room. 

Anakin bit back his snide comments, “I’m looking for someone.” The word carried weight, even if Anakin wouldn’t voice slave.

Watto huffed. “Must have the wrong place. I haven’t had anyone since the damn Republic came here.”

Anakin frowned. He knew better than to think the Republic actually freed anyone. Maybe kids were just the first ones shipped out, and the Republic had come back and hauled other transports off world. Maybe she wasn’t even there anymore—

“Eh? You hear me? No slaves, wrong shop. Unless you need something or you’ve come to sell that junk droid, beat it.” The leathery beat of Watto’s wings preceded his appearance, and he came out gawking at Anakin. Anakin, the tall and scarred former general-turning pirate whose take-no-shit glare didn’t invite the Toydarian to keep stalling. 

“Where is Shmi Skywalker?”

That was all for the resemblance to click. He felt ill when he heard “ _Ani_ ? Little Ani Skywalker?” His former employer, owner, laughed a sickly, wet cough. “Never thought I’d see you! No clue _what_ the Republic did with all those kids they herded…” He wiped a grimy hand across his forehead, reeking sweat. Anakin did not move from his place, barely entering the shop, even when Watto made another choked noise of amusement and loss. “No- never saw your mother after that day either. Republic found out I was a few thousand credits in debt to a commander of theirs I swindled so long ago- they cut up contracts for half the owners in town. Ruined businesses completely. Lost your mother because I couldn’t pay.” Anakin’s hand tightened at his side. He knew damn well what _lost_ meant out here. Usually meant selling her out to anyone for anything to make up for losses until eventually throwing her to the Hutt. Maybe his vengeance glittered in his eyes- Watto waved his hands defensively, “Last I heard she’s out with a moisture farmer! Cliegg Lars. Married even! Never wanted anything bad to happen to neither one of you- never woulda sold her to the Hutt.”

At least he could rely on the honesty of that. Watto was desperate, and built up lots of gambling debts, but he hated the Hutt. Plenty of shopkeepers on the planet did, facing intimidation from the family first hand and knowing if anyone representing Jabba ever showed, they’d have to lose everything to keep their own head. Anakin grunted out a thanks, and despite a desire to punch the Toydarian in the face, he instead laid a handful of coins on the counter and left. 

The suns were getting low, but even then Anakin felt a sheen of sweat covering every inch of his skin. The night would get cold and brutal soon enough, and they’d be lucky to make it to the Lars’ farm. It took some asking around after leaving Watto’s to get an idea of where the Lars’ residence was. And whatever Kenobi was up to, he was done by the time Anakin got back to Mos Eisley and insisted they hurry, not wanting to cross the desert at night. Anxiety made his stomach flip around relentlessly. His mother... 

Ten years- and here he was again. 

The hut first appeared as a dot, growing closer as they created over gentle dunes and the sky dyed purple. Gold streamed out from the great binaries, orange bleeding into red and closer and closer the domed home grew, answering the beckoning of Anakin and his speeder. 

He expected to have to do the awkward hellos on the doorstep, but a figure hovering outside greeted them. A young man, closer to Anakin’s age than to Obi-Wan’s, and he shielded from the sand kicked up by their craft as he passively eyed their approach. Unlike anyone in town, he seemed suspicious but still friendly. 

“Hello-- quite a long way from anywhere else for so late at night. I’m afraid you won’t make it anywhere with the little light that’s left.” He was amiable, and his eyes crinkled with gentle lines, from frequent sun and smiles. Clearly his youth on this planet was ever the opposite of Anakin’s. 

Anakin shook his head, “We don’t mean to impose.” Kenobi, sitting behind him, snorted in disbelief. “I’m looking for Shmi Skywalker— or is she Lars now?” The question soured in his throat, the thought of his mother with another name, making him the only of his family. 

The man nodded, “She kept Skywalker. My mother’s inside, can I know what this is about?”

Anakin made a choked noise and he felt Kenobi press a hand to the small of his back to soothe him, keep the anger and confusion in him from lashing out. So instead of sounding furious, his voice came out pathetic “I’m Anakin. Her son.”

He felt even worse when the man lit up, the idea of _brother_ so clear on his face as he welcomed them inside. Obi-Wan followed but was practically forgotten, as the man- Owen Lars, he introduced- brought them through the home. Artoo at least expressed excitement, rolling around behind Anakin like this was some vacation. Small parts of the place echoed with his mother, her touch and her feelings, but it was so far removed from the home they’d had together. It was a place devoid of Anakin. 

Yet still when Owen brought them to the lowest level, to a homely dining table with three people sitting around it, she recognized him instantly. The only people he’d ever felt in the Force were Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, but now he felt his own mother’s overflowing love and surprise like it was pressed physically into his hands. “Oh _Ani_ ” she cooed, and when he pulled her into his arms, tears stung his eyes. She was really here, smelling of sand and warm spices and cotton, the same woman he had left and never came back for. Her hands, shaky and weathered, pressed to each of his cheeks so she could get a good look at him, eyes softening at the tiredness lining his eyes, thumb tracing his scars and moles- every mark both familiar and new. Her abundant questions couldn’t find their way off her tongue, so instead she laughed and begged him to have a seat with them and Obi-Wan too- who looked remarkably polite but out of place- and finally when she’d wiped too many tears from her cheeks and collected her breath, managed “Oh I’ve missed you.”

And then everything came tumbling out. Owen and Cliegg and the girl Anakin had to assume was Beru, the fiancée Owen mentioned, sat silently as he told every detail of his childhood with the Republic. He talked about Corellia and military academy then Coruscant and being made Captain then Commander then General. He talked about Rex and Fives and promised his men always had his back, and told her stories about life with Senators, ridiculous parties and outfits, but no matter how he mimed Padmé’s headdresses, his descriptions didn’t do justice to any of it. She watched and listened enthralled, piping in “Naboo? Oh we had a guest I think from Naboo many years ago. You must have been sixteen then. Oh she was very kind, a young woman who helped— I’ve forgotten her name!” She looked to Beru who continued,

“Yes, she was from Naboo but she never gave a name.” Anakin’s eyebrows shot up, “She managed to free some of the pleasure slaves from Jabba’s palace. She hated she couldn’t do more but really she did more to give us hope than anyone else has.”

Anakin nodded, and smiled privately, looking at the drink in his hands- since his mother insisted he have something to eat and all that. Someone from Naboo. Padmé never even said— one day he’d thank her. But Jabba pulled him away from getting too wistful— “That’s actually-“ he cleared his throat, “Well that’s one of the reasons I’m here- _we’re_ here”

Shmi’s face creased with concern and desperately, Anakin reached for her hand. He’d just as well admitted he didn’t really come back for her, but to recklessly follow a heroic sense of vengeance. Her eyes slid over to Obi-Wan. The pirate sitting so silently at the end of their table. Anakin mused that if it had been Padmé or Ahsoka sitting there, the mood wouldn’t have soured so quickly, but Kenobi oozed sincerity and darkness and spite. His grin was cold when he leaned forward “We’d like to _help_. It is long past time any reign of occupation hovered over your home, over this planet or the galaxy as a whole.”

In regaling his past, Anakin spared the details of piracy and who Obi-Wan was. With the same caution, the man did not mention them either. “Rebellion sweeps the galaxy, and we wish to extend a hand to Tatooine and cut off Hutt power at it’s head.” 

Anakin cringed at the severe edge to Obi-Wan’s voice, and he wasn’t the only one. 

“We’re not against the rebellion,” Cliegg grunted, “but we can’t afford to make a stir. The Republic and the Hutt already make life hard and already feel threatened by these pirates flying around and decapitating Jedi and Separatists and all sorts.” He moved away from the table, wagging a finger accusingly, “You’re welcome to stay for the night, not letting you go roaming the sand like this, but you won’t be bringing any trouble down on this house.” 

“But—“ Anakin piped up, cut off by a squeeze of Shmi’s hand. It didn’t console him, but promised him _later_. They let Cliegg go. She cleaned up while Owen showed them to a room, and Anakin found his mother again looking at the smoky moon painting the sand like waves. It felt like he was a kid again, coming to her so he could pull on her robe and beg her to tell him pirate stories before bed. Instead it was his turn to spin tales, but his voice wasn’t the whiny cadence of a child. Something sad and nostalgic strung out between the two of them, looking out at the clear sky, the moon and stars. 

Shmi asked “So is that man who I think he is.” Anakin swallowed when he nodded and she smiled, “Well, you did always like those adventures I told you. Now you’ve found a pirate of your own.” 

“He’s not _mine_ ,” Anakin’s cheeks reddened and he very pointedly did not look at the look on her face as she sighed,

“Oh I don’t believe that for a second.” She aged so much over the years, older than she should have looked. Stress and oppression and loss doubling the time so her hair streaked with more grey than color, so her face lined with more worry than joy, and her hands trembled. Yet still she was his mother, and when she held him and smoothed her hands over his back, in those strokes she was sure and strong. When she looked at him, her eyes glittered with unstoppered love more powerful than almost anything else he’d ever seen. 

“Many people are afraid, Anakin. They see what is happening in the galaxy and they are afraid of change. Cliegg means well, but you,” she implored and he found he could look at her again, “You are meant for far greater things than to ever be limited by someone else’s fear.” She kissed his cheek then left him there to trace patterns in the stars, like he used to years ago. Now he had explored so many of those far off but visible systems for himself, he knew what it was like to feel the heat of those distant suns. A luxury so few on this planet had ever been afforded. And somewhere in the interconnected messy waves of sand beneath him, following their ripples would eventually lead him to the anchor and chain that kept them all here: Jabba. Out in these dunes his palace stood, Anakin knew exactly how to find it in line with Tatooine’s stars. 

“No reason to stay out here. Come on in, we’ll be leaving tomorrow.” Anakin did not turn his head to look at Kenobi, some distance behind him. His eyes stayed focused on a trajectory that would lead to the shining glory of Hutt power. 

He spoke mostly to himself, but with a malice that amplified his words, “I don’t see why we can’t go out there now. If we just go, break in, free the slaves-- that’s what we came here to do-”

“In the middle of the night?” Obi-Wan barked a humorless laugh, “Oh yes that’s a sure way for the both of us to get killed out on the sand, having achieved nothing.” The sand brilliantly muffled sound- when Anakin whirled about he expected to see Obi-Wan leaning casually against the hut’s entrance. Instead there was hardly a step between them. “And even if we go in the morning, you want to storm the Hutt palace just the two of us? We have to _wait,_ Anakin.”

“But this is what we _came here_ to do-”

“Whether it’s what you came to do or not is your own issue- it was never my plan. A rebellion will be snuffed out faster than anything if it is not thought out. A fire must be stoked, _controlled_ , and the one building it must be patient.” His eyes levelled Anakin, reflecting the inky blue of the sky back at him. Wind and sand whipped up around them, obscuring the horizon. The darkness engulfing them did nothing to help. Anakin felt his senses dulled by it, by the sand and insecurity of it all. His connection to everything through the Force was not what it was on Coruscant; here it felt muddled and ugly. The only thing he could see clearly was Obi-Wan. There was a sharp whizz in the air, Obi-Wan made a punched sound from his throat. His brow creased-

“Obi-Wan?”

The pirate waved a hand in an imprecise sweep, “It’s nothing, just not used to the sand.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We… In Mos Eisley, I’ve secured us a contact, and your family has given us an update that the rebellion won’t start from nothing here.” His words came out a little rushed, breathless. “We haven’t done _nothing_ and-” Obi-Wan widened his eyes, brows turning deeper. It wasn’t anger marring his face, but a terrifyingly unsettled confusion. “We’ll be back, just as soon as-” He lifted a hand, slapping the back of his own neck, fumbling for something until he found it. Obi-Wan’s fist came back into view with a dart pinched between his fingers. “Oh for _fucks sake_ -”

“ _Obi-Wan--_ ” The air whizzed again, and now Anakin could tell it wasn’t just the natural screams of sand and it never was. But he didn’t feel himself stuck with anything. Obi-Wan started to slump forward in his arms.

“Get out- get _away, Anakin_ \--”

Anakin tried to drag him closer to the hut but the sand gave him poor traction and Obi-Wan became a lump of dead weight. Desperately, he tried to heave him up, but the pirate resisted, instead pressing something into Anakin’s hands and curling his fingers around it. The pressure hurt. Kenobi’s grip was harder than durasteel and he groaned a desperate, choked “ _Don’t-_ ” but didn’t finish. Anakin kneeled in the sand, curling over his body. 

The shock of the foot to his side hit worse than the shock of battle and maybe worse even than the burn of Dooku’s saber because it came so out of the blue. Anakin slumped, gasping, the air knocked out of him. There was sand in his mouth, in his eyes-- a blurry figure with a gleaming helmet: a bounty hunter. Oh Force sake what had Kenobi gotten up to in Mos Eisley--

He felt Obi-Wan’s body wrenched away from him, then another blow landed to his side. A heavy boot ground his face into the sand- he choked on it, dry and coating his tongue, burning and freezing him at the same time. They didn’t even bother to knock him out, just left him humiliated and helpless, blinking sand from his eyes in time to see Obi-Wan was gone, and there was no sign of anyone. 

Anakin stumbled inside, every inch of him throbbing as he collapsed onto the floor. He ached but his sobs came out dry. Sniffing, gasping, he looked at his hands, uncurling his fingers, the last touch Obi-Wan left. It was a small tracker link-- no way to communicate but if he--

Anakin didn’t care if he woke his mother, his _family_ as he crawled forward, shouting for Artoo. The droid loyally answered, beeped irritation but let Anakin connect the tracker. With a pondering whir, the little astromech processed then projected a holomap of the galaxy before narrowing in on Tatooine. A beacon pinged. 

At least he had a trace, some small sign of getting Obi-Wan back. Determination curled in his throat like bile, but it was enough to let the adrenaline fizzle out of him, and his vision swam. He had to find Obi-Wan but right now- well he couldn’t even stand if he wanted to. Artoo was cold against his cheek as he slumped forward. Tomorrow… later… he didn’t want to leave him, _abandon_ him, but his eyes were so heavy. At least he had something. The beacon pinged, and he knew it would still be there when he woke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love promising Anakin gets to kick ass and then being a liar💖 He will SOON just not on Tatooine :(

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE leave comments and kudos! I thrive on attention! And you can find me on [tumblr](https://lowstandards.tumblr.com)  
> :)


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